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POETICAL WORKS 



ROBERT BURNS. 







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THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS, 

INCLUDING 

THE PIECES 

PUBLISHED IN HIS CORRESPONDENCE 
AND RELIQUES; 

WITH HIS 

SONGS AND FRAGMENTS. 

TO WHICH IS PREFIXED 

A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. 



JLonBon; 

PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, 
IN THE STRAND; 

AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO ; MANNERS 
AND MILLER; JOHN FAIRBAIRN ; ADAM 
BLACK ; AND W. BLACKWOOD AT EDIN- 
BURGH J AND G. CLARK, AT ABERDEEN. 

1817. 



MR. HUTCHESON. 

10 " 



CONTENTS. 



SKETCH of the Life, &c 

On the Death of Burns, by Mr. Roscoe 

Preface to the First Edition of Burns' Poems, 
published at Kilmarnock .... 

Dedication of the Second Edition of the 
Poems formerly printed. To the Noblemen 
and Gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt . 

POEMS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

The Twa Dogs, a Tale . . . 

Scotch Drink 

The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the 
Scotch Representatives in the House of 
Commons 

Postscript ....... 

The Holy Fair 

Death and Dr. Hornbook 

The Brigs of Ayr, a Poem inscribed to J. 
B*********, Esq. Ayr .... 

The Ordination . . . . 

The Calf. To the Rev. Mr. 

Address to the Deil t 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie 

Poor Mailie's Elegy 



ii CONTENTS, 

Page 

To J. S**** 61 

A Dream ....... 67 

The Vision *J2 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly 

Righteous 82 

Tarn Samson's Elegy 85 

The Epitaph '88 

Halloween 89 

The Auld Farmer's New Year Morning Salu- 
tation to his Auld Mare Maggie . . 101 
To a Mouse, on turning her up in her nest 

with the Plough, November, 1785 . . 105 

A Winter Night~ 107 

Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet . . . 110 
The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate 

issue of a Friend's Amour . . . . 115 

Despondency, an Ode . . , . . 118 

Winter, a Dirge 120 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 121 

Man was made to Mourn, a Dirge . . 128 

A Prayer in the prospect of Death . • 131 

Stanzas on the same occasion . . . 132 
Verses left by the Author, in a Room where 
he slept, having lain at the House of a 

Reverend Friend ...'.. 133 

The First Psalm 131 

A Prayer, under the pressure of violent 

Anguish 135 

The first Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . 136 
To a Mountain Daisy. On turning one down 

with the Plough, in April., 1780 . . 137 

To Ruin 139 

To Miss L , with Beattie's Poems as a 

New Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787 ... 140 

Epistle to a Young Friend .... 141 

On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies . 144 

To a Haggis .... v . . . 146 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . 147 

To a Louse, on a Lady's Bonnet at Church 151 



CONTENTS. 

Address to Edinburgh 

Epistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard . 

To the Same 

To W. S*****n, Ochiltree, May, 1785 . 

Postscript 

Epistle to J. R******, enclosing some Poems 

John Barleycorn, a Ballad .... 

A Fragment 

Song. — It was upon a Lammas night 

Song, composed in August .... 

Song— Behind yon hill where Lugar flows 

Green grow the Rashes, a Fragment 

Song— Again rejoicing nature sees 

Song— The gloomy night is gath'ring fast 

Song— From thee, Eliza, I must go 

The Farewell to the Brethren of St. James's 
Lodge, Torboltou 

Song — No churchman am I for to rail and to 
write 

Written in Friar's Carse Hermitage, on Nith« 
Side 

Ode, sacred to the memory of Mrs. , 

of 

Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson 

The Epitaph - . . . . . 

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, on the ap- 
proach of Spring 

To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintra . , 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn 

Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford of White- 
foord, Bart, with the foregoing Poem 

Tam O'Shanter, a Tale ..... 

On seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which 
a fellow had just shot .... 

Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crown- 
ing his Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire, 
with Bays 



CONTENTS. 



EPITAPHS, &c- 

On a celebrated Ruling Elder 

On a Noisy Polemic 

On Wee Johnny . . 

For the Author's Father 

For It. A. Esq. 

For G. H. Esq. 

A Bard's Epitaph 

On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations 
through Scotland, collecting the Antiquities 
of that Kingdom 

To Miss Cruikshanks, a very young Lady. 
Written on the blank leaf of a Book, pre- 
sented to her by the Author 

Song — Anna, thy charms my bosom fire 

On reading in a Newspaper the Death of 
John M'Leod, Esq. Brother to a young 
Lady, a particular Friend of the Author's 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the 
Noble Duke of Athole . 

On scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch-Turit 

Written with a Pencil over the Chimney-piece, 
in the Parlour of the Tun at Renmore, Tay- 
mouth 

Written with a Pencil, standing -by the Fall 
of Fyers, near Loch-Ness .... 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child. Born 
in peculiar Circumstances of Family Dis- 
tress 

The Whistle, a Ballad 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES OF POETRY. 

Second Epistle to Davie ... . . 241 

The Lass o' Ballochmyle .... 243 

To Mary in Heaven ..... 24-1 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer . 245 



CONTENTS. 



Ou a Young Lady ..... 

Castle Gordon 

Nae Body 

On the Death of a Lap-Dog, named Echo 

Song 

Inscription to the Memory of Fergusson • 

The Chevalier's Lament .... 

Epbtle to R. Graham, Esq 

Fragment, inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. 
Fox 

To Dr. Blacklock, Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland, 
on New- Year' s-Day Evening 

Elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo 

Imitation of an old Jacobite Song 

Song of Death ...:.. 

The Rights of Woman .... 

Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her 
Benefit Night. Dec. 4, 1795, at the Thea- 
tre, Dumfries 

SONGS. 

The Lea Rig 

To Mary 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee thing ; 

Bonnie Lesley 

Highland Mary 

Auld Rob Morris .... 

Duncan Gray 

O Poortith cauld, and Restless Love 

Galla Water ...... 

Lord Gregory 

Mary M orison ...... 

Wandering Willie . . 

The same, as altered ..... 

Open the door to me, oh ! . 

Jassie • 



CONTENTS. 



Army 



When wild War's deadly blast was blawn 

Meg O' the Mill 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 

Fragment in Witherspoon's Collection 

Scots Songs 
Bonnie Jean . 

Phillis the Fair 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore 
By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove 
O whistle and I'll come to you, my lad 
Adowu winding Nith I did wander 
Come, let me take thee to my breast 

Dainty Davie 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive . 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 

Auld Lang Syne 

Bannock Burn, Bruce's Address to his 

Fair Jenny ..... 

Deluded swain, the pleasure 

Thine am I, my faithful fair 

Husband, husband, cease your strife 

Wilt thou be my dearie 

Banks of Cree .... 

Verses to a young Lady, with a present of 

Songs .... 

On the Seas and far away 
Hark, the mavis' evening sang 
She says she lo'es me best of a' 
Saw ye my Phely 
How long and dreary is the night 
Let not woman e'er complain 
The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress 
The Auld Man 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves 
It was the charming month of May 
Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks 
Farewell thou stream that winding flows 
O Philly, happy be that day 



CONTENTS. 



Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
My Nanie's awa .... 
For a' that and a' that . 
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn 

Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? . 
Her Answer— O tell na me o' wind and 
Address to the Wood-Lark 

On Chloris being ill ... 
Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign 

reckon . . 

'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin 
How cruel are the parents 
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 

1 see a form; I see a face 
To Mr. Cunningham — Now Spring has 

&c 



lands 



O bonnie was yon rosy brier 
'Tis friendship's pledge, my young, fair 
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 
Last May a braw wooer cam down the 

glen 

Fragment— Why, why tell thy lover 

Hey foT a lass wi' a tocher 

Altho' thou maun ne'er be mine . 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear 

The Birks of Aberfeldy 

Stay my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Strathallan's Lament . • 

The Young Highland Rover 

Having Winds around her blowing 

Musing on the roaring Ocean 

Blithe was she 

A Rose-bud by my early walk 

Where braving angry Winter's storms 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day 

Clarinda ..... 

The Day returns, my bosom burns 

The Lazy Mist .... 



clad, 



friend 



lang 



CONTENTS. 



auld 



O, were I on Parnassus' hill 
I love my Jean 
The braes o' Ballochmyle 
Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 
The blue-eyed lassie . • 
The banks of Nith 
John Anderson my jo 
Tam Glen .... 
My tocher's the jewel 
Then guidwife count the lawin 
What can a young lassie do wi' an 
The bonnie wee thing 
O, for ane and twenty, Tam ! 
Bess and her spinning wheel 
Country Lassie 
Fair Eliza 
The Posie 
The banks o' Doon 
Sic a wife as Willie had 
Gloomy December 
Wilt thou be my dearie I 
She's fair and fause 
Afton Water 
Bonnie Bell 
The gallant Weaver 
Louis what reck I by thee ? 
For the sake of Somebody 
The lovely lass of Inverness 
The Mother's Lament for the death 
O May, thy morn 
O, wat ye wha's in yon town ? 
A red, red rose 
A vision .... 

Copy of a Poetical Address to Mr. William 
Tytler ....... 



of her Son 



CONTENTS. 

NEW PIECES. 

Caledonia 

Poem written to a Geutleman who had sent 
a Newspaper, and offered to continue it free 
of expense ... 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry .... 

On the battle of Sheriff-Muir 

Sketch— New Year's Day .... 

Extempore, on the late Mr. William Smellie 

Poetical Inscription for an Altar to Indepen- 
dence 

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq. 

Monody on a Lady famed for her caprice 

The Epitaph 

Answer to a Mandate sent by the Surveyor of 
the Windows, Carriages, &c. 

Song — Nae gentle dames, tho? e'er sae fair 

Impromptu, On Mrs. 's Birth-day 

Address to a Lady 

To a Young Lady, Miss Jessy L , Dum- 
fries ; with Books which the Bard presented 
her 

Sonnet, written on the 25th of January, 1793, 
the Birth-day of the Author, on hearing a 
Thrush sing in a morning walk 

Extempore, to Mr. S**E, on refusing to dine 
with him 

To Mr. S**E, with a present of a Dozen of 
Porter 

The Dumfries Volunteers .... 

Poem, addressed to Mr. Mitchell, collector of 
Excise, Dumfries, 1796 .... 

Sent to a Gentleman whom he had offended 

Poem on Life, Addressed to Col . De Peyster, 
Dumfries 

Address to the Tooth-ach ... 

Song— O wha is she that lo'es me 

— — Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 



x CONTENTS. 

Page 

Song— My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form . 415 
Written in a wrapper, inclosing a letter to 

Capt. Grose 416 

To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintry, on receiv- 
ing a favour 417 

Epitaph on a Friend 418 

A Grace before Dinner . : . . . ib. 
On Sensibility. Addressed to Mrs. Dunlop, of 

Dunlop 419 

A Verse. When Death's dark stream I ferry 

o'er 420 

Farewell to Ayrshire ib. 



MISCELLANEOUS POETRY, SELECTED FROM 
THE RELIQUES OF ROBERT BURNS; 
FIRST PUBLISHED BY R. H. CROMEK. 



Verses written at Selkirk 

Liberty, a Fragment . . 

Elegy on the death of Robert Ruisseaux 

Guidwife, a Fragment .... 

The loyal Natives Verses 

Burns— Extempore .... 

To J. Lapraik, Sept. 13th, 1735 

To the Rev. John M'Math, enclosing a copy 
of Holy Willie's Prayer, which he had re- 
quested, Sept. 17th, 1785 . 

To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Mauchline, recom 
mending a Boy 

To Mr. M'Adam, of Craigen-Gillan 

To Capt. Riddel, Glenriddel 

To Terraughty, on his Birth-day . 

To a Lady, with a present of a pair of drink- 
ing-gl asses ...... 

The Vowels, a Tale .... 

Sketch 

Scots Prologue, for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit 



425 
428 
429 
430 
431 
ib. 
432 



434 

437 
439 

440 

441 ' 

442 
443 

444 

445 



CONTENTS. 



Extemporaneous Effusion on being appointed 

to the Excise 447 

On seeing the beautiful seat of Lord G. . ib. 

On the same ....... ib. 

On the same 448 

To the same, on the Author being threatened 

with his resentment ib. 

The Dean of Faculty ...,-. 449 

Extempore in the Court of Session . . 450 

Verses to J. Ranken 451 

On hearing that there was falsehood in the 

Rev. Dr. B 's very looks . . . 452 

On a Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish, Fife- 
shire ib. 

Address to General Dumourier . . . 453 

Elegy on the Year 1788, a Sketch . . 454 
Verses written under the Portrait of Fergusson 

the Poet 456 

Song— O once I lov'd a bonuie lass . . 457 

SONGS. 

Up in the morning eariy . . . . 4^ 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 462 

Beware o' Bonnie Ann 453 

My Bonnie Mary 4g4 

There's a youth in this city .... 455 

My heart's in the Highlands .... 4(55 

The ranting dog the daddie o't 4Qj 

Craigie-barn Wood 453 

I do confess thou art sae fair . . . 470 

Yon wild mossy mountains . . . 47^ 

Wha is that at my bower door ? 472 
My father was a farmer upon the Carrick 

border O 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever . , 

5Jow bank an' brae are claith'd in green 



473 
475 
476 

477 



CONTENTS. 



The bonie lad that's far awa . 

Out over the Forth I look to the north 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town 

Whistle o'er the lave o't 

Young Jockey 

M'Pherson's farewell 
Here's a bottle and an honest friend 
Ilk care and fear, when thou art uear 
On Cessnock banks there lives a lass 
Wae is my heart .... 
Yestreen I had a pint o' wine 
The deil cam fiddling thro' the town 
Powers celestial, whose protection 
I red you beware of the hunting 
Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass 
Amang the trees where humming bees 
One night as I did wander . . 
There was a lad was born at Kyle 
"When first I came to Stewart Kyle 
Altho' my bed were in yon muir 
O raging fortune's withering blast . 
Here's a health to them that's awa 
The Ploughman 

Her flowing locks the raven's wing 

To thee lov'd Nitb, thy gladsome plains 

The Winter it is past, and the Simmer comes 

at last ... • 



SKETCH OF THE LIFE, 

ire. 



-KoBERT BURNS was born on the 29lh day of 
January, 1759, in a small house about two miles 
from the town of Ayr in Scotland. The family name, 
which the poet and his brother modernized into 
Burns, was originally Burnes or Burness. Their 
father, William, appears to have been early inured 
to poverty and hardships, which he bore with pious 
resignation, and endeavoured to alleviate by industry 
and economy. After various attempts to gain a live- 
lihood, he took a lease of seven acres of land, with 
a view of commencing nurseryman and public gaiv 
dener; and having built a house upon it with his own 
hands (an instance of patient ingenuity by no means 
uncommon amoug his countrymen in humble life) 
he married, December 1757, Agnes Brown.* The 
first fruit of his marriage was Robert, the subject of 
the present sketch. 

In his sixth year, Robert was sent to a school at 
Alloway Miln, about a mile distant from his father's 
house, where he made considerable proficiency in 
reading and writing, aud where he discovered an 
inclination for books not very common at so early 
an age. With these, however, he appears at that 
time to have been rather scantily supplied; but what 
he could obtain, he read with avidity and improve- 
ment. About the age of thirteen or fourteen, he was 

* This excellent woman is still living in the family 
of her son Gilbert. (May, 1813.) 
B 



it SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

sent to the parish school of Dalrymple, where he in= 
creased his acquaintance with English grammar, and 
gained some knowledge of the French language, of 
which he was probably fond, because he traced in it 
many of those words which are in our days reckoned 
broad or pure Scotch. Latin was also recommended 
to him ; but lie was not induced to make any great 
progress in it. 

The far greater part of his time, however, was em- 
ployed on his father's farm, which, in spit§ of much 
industry, became so unproductive as to involve the 
family in great distress. This early portion of af- 
fliction is said to have been, in a. great measure, 
the cause of that depression of spirits of which our 
poet often complained, and during which his suf- 
ferings appear to have been very acute His father 
having taken another farm, the speculation was yet 
more fatal, and involved his affair? In complete 
ruin. He died, Feb. 13, 1784, leaving behind him 
the character of a good and wise map, . nd an af- 
fectionate father, who, under all hi: misfortunes, 
struggled to procure his children an excellent edu 
cation; and endeavoured, both by pre • - pt and, ex- 
ample, to form their minds to religion and virtue. It 
appears that his children felt the high obligation such 
a parent confers,, and bestowed on his memory every 
tender and grateful testimony of honourable respect 
and filial piety. 

It was between the fifteenth and sixteenth year 
of his age, that Robert, as he himself informs us, 
first " committed the sin of rhyme." Having formed 
a boyish affection for a female who was his compa- 
nion in the toils of the field, he composed a song 
which is inserted in the present edition of his works' ; 
but which, however extraordinary from one at his 
age, and in his circumstances, is far inferior to any 
of his subsequent performances. He was at this 
time " an ungainly, awkward boy," unacquainted 
with the world, but who occasionally had picked up 
some notions of history, literature, and criticism, 



OF ROBERT EURNS. iii 

from the few books within his reach. These, he in- 
forms us, were Salmon's and Guthrie's Geographical 
Grammars, the Spectator, Pope's Works, some plays 
of Shakspeare, Tull and Dickson on Agriculture, 
the Pantheon, Lock's Essay on the Human Under- 
standing, Stackhouse's History of the Bible, Justice's 
British Gardener's Directory, Boyle's Lectures, Allan 
Ramsay's Works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Ori- 
ginal Sin, a Select Collection of English Songs, and 
Hervey's Meditations. Of this motley assemblage, it 
may readily be supposed, that some would be studied, 
and some read superficially. There is reason to think, 
however, that he perused the works of the poets with 
such attention as, assisted by his naturally vigorous 
capacity, soon directed his taste, and enabled him to 
discriminate tenderness and sublimity from affecta- 
tion and bombast. 

It appears afterwards, that during the space of 
seven years in which the family lived at Tarbolton, 
where his father's last farm was situated, that is, 
from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth year of 
Robert's age, he made no considerable literary im- 
provement. His accessions of knowledge, indeed, 
or his opportunities of reading, could not be fre- 
quent, involved as he was in the common difficulties 
of his family : but still no external circumstances 
could prevent the innate peculiarities of his character 
from displaying themselves, always to the astonish- 
ment, and sometimes to the terror of his neighbours. 
He was distinguished by a vigorous understanding, 
aud an untameable spirit. His resentments were 
quick, and, although not durable, expressed with a 
volubility of indignation which could not but silence 
and overwhelm his humble and illiterate associates ; 
while the occasional effusions of his muse on tempo- 
rary subjects, which were handed about in manu- 
script, raised him to a local superiority that seemed 
the earnest of a more extended fame. His first motive 
to compose verses, as has been already noticed, was 
his early and warm attachment to the fair sex. His 
B2 



iv SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

favourites were in the humblest walks of life ; but, 
during his passion, he elevated them to Lauras and 
Saccharissas. His attachments, however, at this 
time, were of the purer kind, and his constant theme 
the happiness of the married state; to obtain a suit- 
able provision for which, he engaged in partnership 
with a flax-dresser, hoping, probably, to attain by 
degrees the rank of a manufacturer. But this specu- 
lation was attended with very little success, and was 
finally ended by an accidental fire. 

This calamity, the distresses of his family, and a 
disappointment in a love affair, threw him for some 
time into a state of melaucholy, which he seems to 
have considered as constitutional; but from which 
he was roused by an accidental acquaintance with 
some jovial companions, who gave a more gay turn 
to his sentiments. On his father's death, he took 
a farm in conjunction with his brother, with the 
honourable view of providing for their large and 
orphan family. On this farm our poet entered, 
with a resolution to be wise: he read books on 
agriculture, calculated crops, and attended markets. 
But here, too, he was doomed to be unfortunate, 
although, in his brother Gilbert, he had a coadjutor 
of excellent sense, a man of uncommon powers both 
of thought and expression. A little book which 
Robert purchased for making farming memorandums, 
has since been found, covered with snatches of songs, 
and memorandums of lyric poets. 

During his residence on this farm with his bro- 
ther, he formed a connexion with a young woman, 
the consequences of which could not be long con- 
cealed. In this dilemma, the imprudent couple 
agreed to make a legal acknowledgement of an irre- 
gular and private marriage, and projected that she 
should remain with her father, while he having 
lost all hopes of success at home, was to go to 
Jamaica " to push his fortune." This proceeding, 
however romantic it may appear, would have rescued 
the lady's character, consonant to the laws of Scot- 



t)F ROBERT BURNS. v 

land, which allow of greater latitude in the terms 
and period of the marriage-contract than those of 
England ; but it did not satisfy her father, who in- 
sisted on having all the written documents respect- 
ing the marriage cancelled, and by this unfeeling 
measure, he intended that it should be rendered 
void. The daughter consented, probably under the 
awe of parental authority; and our poet, though 
with much anguish and reluctance, was also obliged 
to submit. Divorced, now, from all he held dear 
in the world, he had no resource but in his projected 
voyage to Jamaica, which was prevented by one of 
those circumstances that, in common cases, might 
pass without observation, but which eventually laid 
the foundation of his future fame. For once, his 
poverty stood his friend. Had he been provided 
with money to pay for his passage to Jamaica, he 
might have set sail, and been forgot. But he was, 
we may say, fortunatel}' destitute of every necessary 
for the voyage, and was therefore advised to raise 
a sum of money by publishing his poems in the way 
of subscription. They were accordingly printed at 
Kilmarnock, in the year 1736, in a small volume, 
which was encouraged by subscriptions for about 350 
copies. 

It is hardly possible, say his countrymen, who were 
on the spot at this time, to express with what eager 
admiration and delight these poems were every 
where received. Old and young, high and low, grave 
and gay, learned and ignorant, all were alike de- 
lighted, agitated, transported. Such transports would 
naturally find their way into the bosom of the author, 
especially when he found that, instead of the neces- 
sity of flying from his native land, he was now en- 
couraged to go to Edinburgh and superintend the 
publication of a second edition. 

This was the most momentous period of his life, 
in which he was to emerge from obscurity and poverty 
to distinction and wealth. In the metropolis, he 
was soon introduced into the company and received 



vi SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

the homage of men of literature, rank, and taste ; 
and his appearance and behaviour at this time, as 
they exceeded all expectation., heightened and kept 
up the curiosity "which his works had excited. He 
became the object of universal admiration and fond- 
ness, and was feasted, caressed, and nattered, as if 
it had been impossible to reward his merit too highly, 
or to grace his triumphal entry by too many so- 
lemnities. But what contributed principally to ex- 
tend his fame, into the sister kingdom, was his for- 
tunate introduction to Mr. Mackenzie, who, in the 
97th paper of the Lounger, then published pe- 
riodically at Edinburgh, recommended his poems by 
judicious specimens, and such generous and ele- 
gant criticism, as placed the poet at once in the rank 
he was destined to hold. From this time., whether 
present or absent, Burns and his genius were the 
objects which engrossed all attention and all con- 
versation. 

It cannot be surprising if so much adulation, in 
this new scene of life, produced effects on Burns 
which were the source of much of the unhappiness 
of his future life : for, while he was admitted into 
the company of men of taste, delicacy, and virtue, he 
was also seduced, by pressing invitations, into the 
society of those whose habits, without being very 
gross, are yet too social and inconsiderate. It is 
to be regretted that he had little resolution to 
withstand those attentions which nattered his merit, 
and appeared to be the just respect due to a degree 
of superiority of which he could not avoid being 
conscious. Among the loose and gay, he met with 
much of that deference which enslaves while it 
seems to fawn! and the festive indulgences of these 
his companions and professed admirers were tempta- 
tions which often became irresistible, because a ge- 
nerous miud thinks it ungrateful and unkind to re- 
sist them. Among his superiors in rank and merit, 
his behaviour was in general decorous and unas- 
suming ; but among his more equal or inferior asso- 



OF ROBERT BURKS. vii 

dates, he was permitted to dictate the mirth of the 
evening, and repaid the attention and submission of 
his hearers by sallies of wit, which from one of his 
birth and education, in addition to their sterling 
value, had all the fascination of wonder. His in- 
troduction, about the same time, into certain con- 
vivial clubs of higher rank, was, to say the least, an 
injudicious mark of respect to one who, whatever 
his talents, was destined, unless very uncommon and 
liberal patronage should interpose, to return to the 
plough, and to the simple and frugal enjoyments of 
a peasant's life. 

During his residence at Edinburgh, his finances 
were considerably improved by the new edition of 
his poems; and this enabled him not only to par- 
take of the pleasures of that city, but to visit seve- 
ral other parts of his native country. He left 
Edinburgh, May 6, 1787, and in the course of his 
journey was hospitably received at the houses of 
many gentlemen of worth and learning, who intro- 
duced him to their friends and neighbours, and re- 
peated the applauses on which he had feasted in 
the metropolis. Of this tour he wrote a journal, 
which still exists, and of which some specimens have 
been published.* He afterwards travelled into Eng- 
land as far as Carlisle. In the beginning of June he 
arrived at Mossgiel, near Mauchlin, in Ayrshire, 
after an absence of six months, during which he had 
experienced a happy reverse of fortune, to which the 
hopes of few men in his situation could have aspired. 
He performed another journey the same year, of 
which there are a few minutes in the work already 
referred to, and which furnished him with subjects 
for his muse. His companion in some of these tours 
was a Mr. Nicol, a man of considerable talents, but 
eccentric manners, who was endeared to Burns not 
only by the warmth of his friendship, but by a cer- 

* Dr. Currie's Life of Burns, Vol. I. p. 163, & 
seq. 



viii SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

tain congeniality of sentiment and agreement in 
habits. This sympathy in some other instances, 
made our poet capriciously fond of companions who, 
in the eyes of men of more regular conduct, and more 
refined notions, were insufferable. 

During the greater part of the winter 1787-8, 
Burns again resided in Edinburgh, and entered with 
peculiar relish into its gaieties. By his patrons of 
the higher order he was still respected and caressed ; 
but as the singularities of his manner displayed them- 
selves more openly, and as the novelty of his appear- 
ance wore off, he became less an object of general 
curiosity and attention. He lingered long in this 
place, however, in hopes that some situation would 
have been offered which might place him in inde- 
pendence : but as it did not seem probable that any 
thing of that kind would occur soon, he began se- 
riously to reflect that he had as yet acquired no 
permanent situation in the world, and that tours of 
pleasure and praise would not provide for the wants 
of a family. Influenced by these considerations, and 
probably ashamed of a delay which was not in unison 
with his native independence of mind, he quitted 
Edinburgh in the month of February, 1788. Finding 
himself master of nearly 5002. from the sale of his 
poems, after discharging all expenses, he took the 
farm of Ellisland, neaw Dumfries, and stocked it 
with part of this money, besides generously ad- 
vancing 200Z. to his brother Gilbert, who was 
struggling with many difficulties in the farm of Moss- 
giel. He was now also legally united to Mrs. Burns, 
who joined him, with their children, about the end 
of this year. 

In his common-place book, we find some reflec- 
tions on his new situation, characteristic of his pecu- 
liar temper, and of that romantic spirit, which had 
not been wholly subdued by the disappointment of 
the hopes he was encouraged to cherish at Edinburgh. 
He repines at the exchange of pleasure for labour : 
and, although he declares he had never seen ft where 



OF ROBERT BURNS. ix 

he could make a better choice of a wife," he seems to 
place his marriage to the account of necessity. Y§t 
he was far from being deficient in tenderness and af- 
fection for Mrs. Burns, who, indeed, appears highly 
deserving of every praise. Quitting, however, these 
speculations for more active pursuits, he now rebuilt 
the dwelling house on his farm, to render it more 
commodious to his family; and during his engage- 
ment in this object, and while the regulations of the 
farm had the charm of novelty, he passed his time in 
more tranquillity than he had lately experienced. 
But, unfortunately, his old habits were rather inter- 
rupted than broken ; and his fame at Edinburgh, 
which had reached this comparative retirement, gave 
a consequence to the poet which the mere farmer 
could never have expected. He was again invited 
into social parties, with the additional recommenda- 
tion of a man who had seen the world, and lived with 
the great; and again partook of those irregularities 
for which men of warm imaginations, and conversa- 
tion-talents, find too many apologies. But a circum- 
stance now occurred which presented a new series of 
temptations, and threw many obstacles in his way as 
a farmer. 

It has already been noticed, that iJurns very fondly 
cherished those notions of independence, and those 
feelings of an independent spirit, that ate dear to the 
young and ingenuous, and were perhaps not less so 
to him, because so often sung by the greatest of our 
poets. But he had not matured these notions by re- 
flection; and he was now to learn, that a little know- 
ledge of the world will overturn- many such airy 
fabrics. If we may form any judgment however, 
from his correspondence, his expectations were not 
very extravagant, since he expected only that some 
of his illustrious patrons would- &ave placed him, on 
whom they had bestowed the honors' of genius, in a 
situation where his exertions -.ffriglit' have been unin- 
terrupted by the fatigues of labour, and the calls of 
want. Disappointed in this, he now formed a design 
B3' 



x SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

of applying for the office of exciseman, as a kind" of 
resource in case his expectations from the farm should 
be baffled. By the interest of one of his friends this 
object was accomplished ; and after the usual forms 
were gone through, he was appointed exciseman, or, 
as it is vulgarly called, ganger of the district in which 
he lived. 

It soon appeared, as might naturally have been 
expected, that the duties of this office were incom- 
patible with his previous employment. " His farm," 
says Dr. Currie, " was in a great measure abandoned 
to his servants, while he betook himself to the duties 
of his new appointment. He might still, indeed, be 
seen in the spring, directing his plough, a labour in 
which he excelled, or with a white sheet, containing 
his seed-corn, slung across his shoulders, stridiug with 
measured steps, along his turned-up furrows, and 
scattering the grain in the earth. But his farm no 
longer occupied the principal part of his care or his 
thoughts. It was not at Ellisland that he was now 
in general to be found :— Mounted on horseback, this, 
high-minded poet was pursuing the defaulters of the 
revenue, among the hills and vales of Nithsdale, 
his roving eye wandering over the charms of nature, 
and muttering his wayward fancies as he moved 
along."* 

About this time (1792), he was solicited, and 
cheerfully consented to give his aid to a beautiful 
work, entitled, <f A Select Collection of Original 
Scottish Airs for the Voice : to which are added, in- 
troductory and concluding Symphonies and Accom- 
paniments for the Piano Forte and Violin, by Pleyel 
and Kozeluch ; with select and characteristic Verses 
by the most admired Scottish Poets, &c." This work 
was projected by Mr. George Thomson of Edinburgh, 
in whom Burns would have found a generous em- 
ployer, had he not, from motives understood only by 
himself, refused every offer of remuneration. He 

* Dr. Currie's Life, p. 200, 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xi 

wrote, however, with attention and without delay, 
for this work, all the songs which appear in this vo- 
lume; to which we have added those he contributed 
to the " Scots Musical Museum," conducted by Mr. 
James Johnson, and published in volumes, from the 
year 1787 to 1797- 

Burns also found leisure to form a society for pur- 
chasing and circulating books among the farmers of 
the neighbourhood ; but these, however praiseworthy 
employments, still interrupted the attention he ought 
to have bestowed on his farm, which became so un- 
productive, that he found it convenient to resign it, 
and, disposing of his stock and crop, removed to a 
small house which he had taken in Dumfries, a short 
time previous to his lyric engagement with Mr. 
Thomson. He had now received from the Board of 
Excise, in consequence of his diligence and integrity, 
an appointment to a new district, the emoluments of 
which amounted to about seventy pounds sterling per 
annum. 

While at Dumfries, his temptations to irregularity, 
. partly arising from the wandering and unsettled du- 
ties of his office, and partly from the killing kindness 
of his friends, recurred so frequently as nearly to 
overpower his resolutions, which were of a very op- 
posite kind, and which he appears to have formed 
with a perfect knowledge of what is right and pru- 
dent. During his quiet moments, however, he was 
enlarging his fame by those admirable compositions 
he sent to Mr. Thomson : and his temporary sallies 
and flashes of imagination, in the merriment of the 
social table, still bespoke a genius of wonderful 
strength and of high captivations. It has been said, 
indeed, with great justice, that, extraordinary as his 
poems are, they afford but an inadequate proof of 
the powers of their author, or of that acuteness of 
observation, and fertility of expression, he displayed 
on the most common topics in conversation. In the 
society, likewise, of persons of taste and respectability, 
be could refrain from those indulgences which among 



xii SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

his more constant companions probably formed his 
chief recommendation. 

The emoluments of his office, which now com- 
posed his whole fortune, soon appeared {insufficient 
for the maintenance of his family. He did not, in- 
deed, from the Arst, expect that they could ; but he 
had hopes of promotion *at no great distance of time, 
and would probably have attained it, if he had not 
forfeited the favour of the Board of Excise, by some 
conversations on the state of public affairs, the Revo- 
lution of France, &c, which were deemed highly im- 
proper, and were probably reported to the Board in 
a way not calculated to lessen their effect. That he 
should have been deceived by the plausible appear- 
ance of affairs in France during the early periods of 
the revolution, is not surprising; he only caught a 
portion of an enthusiasm which was then very gene- 
ral : but that he should have raised his imagination 
to a warmth beyond his fellows, will appear very sin- 
gular, when we consider that he had hitherto dis- 
tinguished himself as a Jacobite, an adherent to. the 
unfortunate house of Stuart. Yet however incon- 
sistent this may appear, he had now uttered opinions 
which were thought dangerous ; and information being 
given to the Board, an inquiry was instituted into his 
conduct, the result of which, although rather favour- 
able, was not so much so as to re-instate him in the 
good opinion of the Commissioners. Interest was ne- 
cessary to enable him to retain his office; and he was 
informed that his promotion was deferred, and must 
depend on his future behaviour. 

He is said to have defended himself, on this occa- 
sion, in a letter addressed to one of the Board, with 
much spirit and skill. He wrote another letter to a 
gentleman, who, hearing that he had been dismissed 
from his situation, proposed a subscription for him. 
In this last, he gives an account of the whole trans- 
action, and endeavours to vindicate his loyalty; he 
also contends for an independence of spirit, which he 
certainly possessed, and which, in many instances he 



OF ROBERT BURISS. jtni 

decidedly proved, but which yet appears to have 
partaken of that ardent zeal and extravagance of 
sentiment which are fitter to point a stanza than to 
conduct a life. " Burns," he exclaims, " was a poor 
man from his, birth, and an exciseman by necessity; 
but— I will say it! the sterling of his honest worth, 
poverty could not debase ; and his independent, 
British spirit, oppression might bend, but could not 
subdue." This is offered in answer to a report that 
he had made submissions, for the sake of his office, 
unworthy of his character. 

Another passage in this letter is too characteristic 
to be omitted. — " Often," says our indignant poet, 
f in blasting anticipation have I listened to some 
future hackney scribbler, with heavy malice of 
savage stupidity, exultiugly asserting that Burns, 
notwithstanding the fanfaronade of independence to 
be found in his works, and after having been held up 
to public,: view; and to public estimation, as a man of 
Some genius/ yet quite destitute of resources within 
himself to support his .borrowed dignity, dwindled 
into a paltry exciseman; and; slunk out the rest of 
his insignificant existence, m the meanest of pursuits, 
and among the lowest of mankind." 

This striking passage has no doubt often been read 
with sympathy, and often perhaps with indignation. 
That Burns should have embraced the .only oppor- 
tunity in his power to provide for his Jaiwly, can be 
no topic of censure or ridicule, even ifitheLsituation 
he acquired had been of a lower denomination; 
and however incompatible with the cultivation either 
of land or of genius the business of an exciseman 
may be, we have yet to learn that there is any thing 
of moral turpitude or disgrace attached to it. It 
was not his choice, for he had no choice ; it was the 
only help within his reach: and he laid hold of it. 
But that, " after being held up to public view and to 
public estimation as a man," not only " of some," 
but of very superior and extensivl genius, he should 
not have found a patron generous enough, or wise 



xiv SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

enough to place him in a situation, if not more 
honourable to his talents, if not connected with the 
labours of the pen, or in some measure promotive 
of his literary pursuits, yet at least free from allure- 
ments to " the sin that so easily beset him :" this is a 
circumstance on which the admirers of Burns and of 
his patrons have found it painful to dwell. 

His amiable friend Mr, Mackenzie, in the 97 th 
number of the Lounger, after mentioning the poet's 
design of going to the West Indies in quest of the 
shelter and support which Scotland had denied him, 
concludes that paper in words to which sufficient at- 
tention appears not to have been paid : € * I trust 
means may be found to prevent this resolution from 
taking place: and that I do my country no more 
than justice, when I suppose her ready to stretch out 
the hand to cherish and retain this native poet, whose 
* wood-notes wild,' possess so much excellence. — To 
repair the wrongs of suffering or neglected merit: to 
call forth genius from the obscurity in which it had 
pined indignant, and place it where it may profit or 
delight the world .-—these are exertions which give 
to wealth an enviable superiority, to greatness and to 
patronage a laudable pride." 

Although we have seen, by the extract from Burns's 
letter, that he deprecated the reflections which might 
be made on his occupation of exciseman, it may be 
necessary to add, that from this humble step, he fore- 
saw all the contingencies and gradations of promo- 
tion up to a rank on which it is not usual to look with 
contempt. In a letter written to one of his patrons 
(whose name is concealed), dated 1794, he states that 
he is on the list of supervisors: that in two or three 
years he should be at the head of that list, and be 
appoiuted, as a matter of course : but that then a 
friend might be of service in getting him into a part 
of the kingdom which he would like. A supervisor's 
income varies from about 1207. to 200Z. a year: but 
the business he says, is " an incessant drudgery, and 
would be nearly a complete bar to every species of 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xv 

literary pursuit," He proceeds, however, to observe, 
that the moment he is appointed supervisor in the 
common routine, he might be nominated on the Col- 
lectors' list, '*■ and this is always a business purely of 
political patronage. A collectorship varies much from 
better than two hundred a year to near a thousand. 
Collectors also come forward by precedency on the 
list, and have, besides a handsome income, a life of 
complete leisure. A life of literary leisure, with a 
decent competence, is the summit of my wishes." He 
then respectfully solicits the interest of his corres- 
pondent to facilitate this. 

He was doomed, however, to continue in his pre- 
sent emplojmient for the remainder of his days, which 
were not many. His constitution, which '* had all 
the peculiarities and delicacies that belong to the 
temperament of genius," was now rapidly decaying ; 
yet, although sensible that his race was nearly run, 
his resolutions of amendment were but feeble. His 
temper, amidst many struggles between principle and 
passion, became irritable and gloomy, and he was 
even insensible to the kind forgiveness and soothing 
attentions of his affectionate wife. In the month of 
June, 179^, he removed to Brow, in Annandale, 
about ten miles from Dumfries, to try the effect of 
sea-bathing ; a remedy that at first, he imagined, re- 
lieved the rheumatic pains in his limbs, with which 
he had been afflicted for some months : but this was 
immediately followed by a new attack of fever. When 
brouqht back to his house at Dumfries, on the 18th 
of July, he was no longer able to stand upright. The 
fever increased, attended with dilirium and-debility, 
and on the 21st he expired, in the thirty -eighth year 
of his age. His funeral was accompanied with mili- 
tary honours, not only by the corps of Dumfries vo- 
lunteers, of which he was a member, but by the 
Fencible Infantry, and a regiment of the Cinque Port 
cavalry, then quartered in Dumfries. 

He left a widow and four sons, for whom the in- 
habitants of Dumfries opened a subscription, which 



xvi SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

being extended to England, produced a consider- 
able sum for their immediate necessities* This has 
since been augmented by the profits of the splendid, 
edition of his works, printed in four volumes, 8vo. ; 
to which Dr. Currie, of Liverpool, prefixed a life, 
written with so much elegance and taste, and en- 
•riched by so much ingenious disquisition on every 
subject connected with the character and pursuits 
of our poet, that it may be considered as a very im- 
portant addition to English literature. It is need- 
less to add how much the writer of the present sketch 
has been indebted to a composition, which all who 
hereafter write Or think of Burns, must necessarily 
consult. 

As to the person of our poet, he is described as 
being nearly five feei ten inches in height, and of a 
form that indicated agility as well as strength. His 
well-raised forehead, shaded with black curling hair, 
expressed uncommon capacity. His eyes were large, 
dark, full, of ardor and animation. His face was well 
formed, and his countenance uncommonly interest- 
ing. Of his general behaviour, some'H^aits have 
already been given. It usually bespoke : a mind con- 
scious of superior talents, not however irnmixed with 
the affections which beget familiarity and affability. 
It was consequently various, according to the various 
modes in which he was addressed, or supposed him- 
self to be treated : for it may easily be imagined that 
he often felt disrespect where none was meant. His 
conversation is universally allowed to have been un- 
commonly fascinating, and rich in wit, humour, 
whim, and occasionally in serious and apposite re- 
flection. This excellence, however, proved a lasting 

* Mrs. Burns continues to live in the house in 
which the Poet died : the eldest son, Robert, is at 
present in the Stamp-Office; the other two are of- 
ficers in the East India Company's army, "William is 
in Bengal, and James in Madras, (May, 1813.) Wal- 
lace, the second son, a lad of great promise, died of 
a consumption. 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xvii 

misfortune to him: for while it procured him the 
friendship of men of character and taste, in whose 
company his humour was guarded and chaste, it had 
also allurements for the lowest of mankind, who 
know no difference between freedom and licentious- 
ness, and are never so completely gratified as when 
genius condescends to give a kind of sanction to their 
grossness, Yet with all his failings, no man had a 
quicker apprehension of right and wrong in human 
conduct, or a stronger sense of what was ridiculous 
or mean in morals or manners. His own errors he 
well knew and lamented, and that spirit of inde- 
pendence which he claimed, and so frequently ex- 
hibited, preserved him from injustice or selfish in- 
sensibility. He died poor, but not in debt, and left 
behind him a name, the fame of which will not be 
soon eclipsed. 

Of his poems, which have been so often printed, 
and so eagerly read, it would be unnecessary here 
to enter into a critical examination. All readers of 
taste and sensibility have agreed to assign him a high 
rank among the rural poets of his country. His pro- 
minent excellencies are humour, tenderness, and sub- 
limity ; a combination rarely found in modern times, 
unless in the writings of a few poets of the very high- 
est fame, with whom it would be improper to com- 
pare him. As he always wrote under the impression 
of actual feeling, much of the character of the man 
may be discovered in the poet. He executed no great 
work, for he never was in a situation which could 
afford the means of preparing, executing, and polish* 
ing a work of magnitude. His time he was compelled 
to borrow from labour, anxiety, and sickness. Hence 
his poems are short, various, and frequently irregu- 
lar. It is not always easy to predict, from the be- 
ginning of them, what the conclusion or general 
management will be. They were probably written at 
one effort, and apparently with ease. He follows 
the guidance of an imagination, fertile in its images, 
but irregular in its expressions and apt to be desul- 



xviii SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

tory. Hence he mixes the most affecting tenderness 
with humour almost coarse, and from this frequently 
soars to a sentiment of sublimity, a lofty flight, indi- 
cative of the highest powers of the art. Although in 
pursuit of flowers, he does not scruple to pick up a 
weed, if it has any thing singular in its appearance, 
or apposite in its resemblance. Yet the reader, who 
has been accustomed to study nature, and the varieties 
of the human mind, will always find something in 
unison with his boldest transitions. 

Scenery and sentiment constitute the principal part 
of his poems. Characters and manners likewise enter 
into them, and appear with equal advantage. Having 
attempted no regular work, he leaves us only to con- 
jecture, but to conjecture with the greatest probabi- 
lity, that, had he been possessed of the means of 
leisure and study, he might have produced those bold 
exertions which some suppose to be the soul or essence 
of poetry, and which have constituted the extensive 
fame of the greatest of poets. He always, however, 
viewed objects with a correct and picturesque eye. 
Many of those songs which he wrote with little labour, 
are finished sketches of nature, or rural life ; and the 
characters and incidents in them, or in his larger 
poems, are strictly in truth, and will be readily acknow- 
ledged. His resources were abundant; for, however 
striking his delineations, he does not elevate any thing 
beyond its just standard, and introduces no meretri- 
cious ornaments to heighten the effect, or catch vulgar 
applause 9 His versification, it may easily be observed, 
is sometimes incorrect ; but, as he frequently revised 
and retouched his works without amendment in this 
respect, we are inclined to think that he considered 
it as a secondary object, or would not gratify his 
critics by acknowledging what an inferior capacity 
might discover. Some few criticisms, it is said, he 
adopted, but rejected by far the greater part* 

If the merit of a poet is to be estimated by compa- 
rison, Burns has certainly surpassed his countrymen 
Ramsay and Fergusson, the only two writers of any 






OF ROBERT BURNS. xix 

eminence with whom a comparison has been, or can 
be estimated. In his early attempts, these were the 
best models he had to follow; and it is evident that 
he had studied their works, and derived considerable 
improvement from them. He acknowledges that 
meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, he " strung 
his lyre anew'with emulating vigour." But still he 
exceeds in versatility of talent. The poems of Ram- 
say and Fergusson are characterized by humour or 
pathos only: but our poet, while his humour was 
more exuberant than theirs, and his pathos equally 
touching, rose superior by flights of the sublime and 
terrible, which they never attained. He may there- 
fore be believed when he says, that " although he 
had these poets frequently in his eye, it was rather 
with a view to kindle at their flame, than to servile 
imitatiou." Nothing, indeed, of the latter appears 
in his works. — The poet displays the same indepen- 
dent spirit as the man. The plan or first thought of 
the Brigs of Ayr may have been taken from Fergus- 
son's Causeway and Plainstones ; and The Farmer's 
Ingle of this poet, may have suggested The Cotter's 
Saturday Night : but in these and a few other in- 
stances, where some distant resemblance of subject 
may be traced, the execution, and all that constitutes 
the merit of the poem, belong to Burns. It may be 
observed, too, that Burns was in a progressive state 
of improvement: his early productions have much 
ruggedness and incorrectness; but as he advanced, 
his powers ripened, his judgment became severe and 
critical ; and it is impossible to say what grander dis- 
plays he might have made, had he been placed in 
better circumstances than those which have been de- 
tailed. 

Burns was entirely the poet of nature.— Of litera- 
ture, he had none. He knew the Greek and Roman 
poets, if he knew them at all, only in translations. 
There have been, indeed, few poets less indebted to 
art aud education. He was a total stranger to the 
tinsel, the overloading epithets, and other shifts of 



xx SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

modern poets. If he read French, he imbibed no- 
thing of the French manner: but his knowledge of 
that language does not appear to have been very in- 
timate, although some common-place phrases occur 
in his letteis. What superior culture might have 
done for a mind naturally vigorous and easily sus- 
ceptible of knowledge, we shall not now inquire. 
Conjecture has been but idly employed in calculating 
what Shakspeare might have produced, had he earned 
the honours of academic education. Of this we are 
certain, that men of ardent imaginations, and whose 
works bear the undoubted stamp of genius, have fre- 
quently been found to neglect, if not to despise the 
opportunities by which general knowledge is diffused 
throughout a nation, and by which studies are regu- 
lated, and forms prescribed. 

In the case of Burns, however, it does not appear 
necessary to put our imaginations to the stretch. 
His works claim no charitable allowance on account 
of the obscurity of his birth, or the smallness of his 
acquisitions; they are such as few scholars could have 
produced, and such as learning could not have ma- 
terially improved. It has been necessary to relate 
his personal history, as an object of that curiosity 
which the admirers of an author cannot repress, and 
in order to account for his personal failings; but as a 
poet, he may await the verdict of criticism, without 
the least necessity of putting in the plea of poverty, 
or want of literature. In all his woiks, he discovers 
his feelings, without betraying his situation. Had 
they been sent into the world without a name, con- 
jecture would have found no pretence to fix them on 
a ploughman, or to suppose that they were published 
merely to raise pity and relief. 

By some it has been regretted, that the best per- 
formances of our poet are in a language now ac- 
counted barbarous, which is never used in serious 
writing, and which is gradually falling into disuse, 
because every man gets rid of it as soon as he can. It 
has been asked, why he should write only for a par; 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xxi 

of the island, when he could command the admiration 
of the whole ? In answer, it has been urged, that he 
wrote for the peasantry of his country, in a language 
which was to them familiar, and rich in expression. 
It was likewise for many years the only language he 
knew so well as to be able to express himself fluently 
in it: his early thoughts were conveyed in it, and it 
was endeared to him by the pleasures of memory and 
association. He wrote it when he had no very ex- 
tensive ambition, and when he had no suspicion that 
it would obscure his seutiments, or narrow his fame. 
Nor, it must be confessed, has he been disappointed 
in his expectation, if we suppose that they were 
more enlarged. In England, Ireland, and America, 
his poems have been read and studied with pleasure 
and avidity, amidst all the interruptions of glossarial 
reference. These remarks, however, do not apply to 
many of his graver poems which are written in Eng- 
lish, and in English which proves that he had culti- 
vated that language with attention and success; al- 
though he did not conceive it to be adapted to such 
pieces as he intended, perhaps exclusively, for the 
use of his humble neighbours, and to give classic 
dignity to his native scenery. 

It has already been mentioned, that Burns had re- 
ceived a religious education, such as is common to 
the lower classes in Scotland ; and it may be observ- 
ed, that many of his sentiments run in a devotional 
strain, while he frequently, but not always, with equal 
judgment, introduces the language and imagery of 
the Holy Scriptures in his writings. It is to be la- 
mented, however, that the religious impressions of 
his youth were neither so strong uor so durable as to 
afford him consolation amidst the untoward events of 
his life. He appears to have been much affected by 
the bigotry of his neighbours, and has satirized it 
with peculiar humour : but in this discharge of what 
he might think was his duty, he overlooked the mean 
betwixt superstition and unbelief. In his latter days 
he felt severely the folly of thus removing from one 



xxii SKETCH OF THE LIFE 

extreme to another ; and probably lamented the loss 
of that happier frame of mind in which he wrote the 
concludiug verses of the Cotter's Saturday Night. 
Let us hope, however, that his many and frank ac- 
knowledgements of error finally ended in that ** re- 
pentance which is not to be repented of." It is but 
justice to add, that he corrected certain improprieties 
introduced into his early poems ; audit was his inten- 
tion to have revised all his works, and make repara- 
tion to the individuals he had been supposed to irri- 
tate, or to the subjects he had treated with unbecom- 
ing levity. " When we reflect," says Mr. Mackenzie, 
" on his rank in life, the habits to which he must 
have been subject, and the society in which he must 
have mixed, we regret, perhaps, more than wonder, 
that delicacy should be so often offended in perusing 
a volume in which there is so much to interest and 
please us." 

The character of Burns will still be incomplete, 
without some notice of his abilities as a prose- writer ; 
for of these we have ample proofs in his familiar cor- 
respondence. That his letters were never intended 
for the public eye, that many of them are mutilated, 
and that some, perhaps, might have been suppressed, 
are deductions which do not affect their merit as the 
effusions of a very uncommon mind, enriched with 
knowledge far beyond what could have been reason- 
ably expected in his situation. He appears to have 
cultivated English prose with care, and certainly wrote 
it with a sprightly fluency. His turns of expression 
are various and surprising, and, when treating the 
most common topics, his sentiments are singular and 
animated. His letters, however, would have attained 
a higher portion of graceful expression, and would 
have been more generally pleasing, had they not 
been too frequently the faithful transcripts of a dis- 
appointed mind, gloomily bent on one set of indignant 
and querulous reflections. But with this, and another 
exception, which might be made to these letters, from 
a frequent imitation of the discursive manner of 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xxiii 

Sterne, they must ever be considered as decided 
proofs of genius. They contain many admirable spe- 
cimens of critical acumen, and many flights of hu- 
mour, and observations on life and manners, which 
fully justify our belief that, had he cultivated his 
prose talents only, he might have risen to very high 
distinction in epistolary or essay writing. In them, 
likewise, we find many moral sentiments and resolu- 
tions, many struggles with his passions, fair hopes of 
amendment, and philosophic intrepidity, expressed in 
a style peculiarly original and energetic. Upon the 
whole, Burns was a man who undoubtedly possessed 
great abilities with great failings. The former he re- 
ceived from nature, he prized them highly, and he 
improved them; the latter were exaggerated by cir- 
cumstances less within his control, and by disap- 
pointments which, trusting to the most liberal encou- 
ragement ever offered to genius, he could not have 
foreseen. They have been detailed in this sketch of 
his life, from motives for which no apology is neces- 
sary ; to guard ambitious and ardent minds from si- 
milar irregularities and wanderings, and to explain 
why such a man, after the first burst of popular ap- 
plause was past, lived and died more unhappily than 
would probably have been the case had he never 
known what it was to be caressed and admired. 

A.C. 



[ sxiv ] 

ON THE DEATH OF BURNS, 

BY MR. ROSCOE. 



R £ 



LEAR high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
But, ah ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he the sweetest bard is dead 

That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? 

As green thy towering pines may grow, 

As clear thy streams may speed along, 
As bright thy summer suns may glow, 

And wake again thy feathery throng; 
But now, unheeded is the song, 

And dull and lifeless all around, 
For his wild harp lies all unstrung, 

And cold the hand that wak'd its sound. 

What tho' thy vigorous offspring rise : 

In arts and arms thy sons excel ; 
Tho' beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 

And health in every feature dwell ; 
Yet who shall now their praises tell, 

In strains impassion'd, fond and free, 
Since he no more the song shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and thee ! 

With step-dame eye and frown severe 

His hapless youth why didst thou view? 
For all thy joys to him were dear, 

And all his vows to thee were due: 
Nor greater bliss his bosom knew, 

In opening youth's delightful prime, 
Than when thy favouring ear he drew 

To listen to his chanted rhyme. 



ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. xxv 

Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 

To him were all with rapture fraught; 
He heard with joy the tempest rise 

That wak'd him to sublimer thought; 
And oft thy winding dells he sought, 

Where wild flowers pour'd their rathe perfume, 
And with sincere devotion brought 

To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 

But, ah! no fond maternal smile 

His unprotected youth enjoy'd; 
His limbs enur'd to early toil, 

His days with early hardships tried : 
And more to mark the gloomy void, 

And bid him feel his misery, 
Before his infant eyes would glide 

Day-dreams of immortality. 

Yet, not by cold neglect depress'd. 

With sinewy arm he turn'd the soil, 
Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 

And met at morn his earliest smile. 
Wak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile 

The powers of fancy came along, 
And sooth'd his lengthen'd hour of toil 

With native wit and sprightly song. 

— Ah ! days of bliss, too swiftly fled, 

When vigorous health from labour springs. 
And bland contentment smooths the bed, 

And sleep his ready opiate brings ; 
And hovering round on airy wings 

Float the light forms of young desire. 
That of unutterable things 

The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 

Now spells of mightier power prepare, 
Bid brighter phantoms round him dance; 

Let flattery spread her viewless snare, 
And fame attract his vagrant glance : 
C 



xxvi ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. 

Let sprightly pleasure too advance, 
Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone, 

Till lost in love's delirious trance 
He scorn the joys his youth has known. 

Let friendship pour her brightest blaze, 

Expanding all the bloom of soul ; 
And mirth concenter all her rays, 

And point them from the sparkling bowl; 
And let the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures unconfin'd, 
And confidence that spurns control, 

Unlock the inmost springs of mind. 

And lead bis steps those bowers among, 

"Where elegance with splendour vies, 
Or science bids her favour'd throng 

To more refin'd sensations rise : 
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys, 

And freed from each laborious strife, 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

That waits the sons of polish'd life. 

Then whilst his throbbing veins beat high 

With every impulse of delight, 
Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 

And shroud the scene in shades of night; 
And let despair, with wizard lights 

Disclose the yawning gulf below, 
And pour incessant on his sight, 

Her specter'd ills and shapes of woe ; 

And shew beneath a cheerless shed, 

With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes. 
In silent grief where droops her head, 

The partner of his early joys ; 
And let his infants' tender cries 

His fond parental succour claim, 
And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband and a father's name. 



ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. 

*Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds j 

His high reluctant spirit bends; 
In bitterness of soul he bleeds, 

Nor longer with his fate contends. 
An idiot laugh the welkin rends 

As genius thus degraded lies ; 
Till pitying Heaven the veil extends 

That shrouds the Poet's ardent eyes. 

— Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy shelter' d valleys proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
Eut never more shall poet tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he the sweetest bard is dead 

That ever breath'd the soothing strain, 



C2 



POEMS, 

FORMERLY PUBLISHED J 

WITH SOME ADDITIONS. 



I 3 ] 

PREFACE 

TO THE FIRST EDITION OF 

BURNS' POEMS, 

PUBLISHED AT KILMARNOCK. 

XHE following Trifles are not the production of 
the poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, 
and, perhaps amid the elegancies and idlenesses of 
upper life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye 
to Theocritus or Virgil. To the author of this, these 
and other celebrated names, their countrymen, are, at 
least in their original language, cufountain shut up, 
and a book sealed. Unacquainted with the neces- 
sary requisites for commencing poet by rule, he sings 
the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in him- 
self and his rustic compeers around him, in his and 
their native language. Though a rhymer from his 
earliest years, at least from the earliest impulses of 
the softer passions, it was not till very lately that 
the applause, perhaps the partiality, of friendship, 
wakened his vanity so far as to make him think any 
thing of his worth showing; and none of the follow- 
ing works were composed with a view to the press. 
To amuse himself with the little creations of his own 
fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life ; 
to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the 
griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast ; to find 
some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a world, 
always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical 
mind— these were his motives for courting the Muses, 
and in these he found poetry to be its own reward. 

Now that he appears in the public character of an 
author, he does it with fear and trembling. So dear 
is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, 
nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being 



f 4 ] 

branded as — An impertinent blockhead, obtruding 
his nonsense on the world; and, because he can 
make a shift to jingle a few doggerel Scotch rhymes 
together, looking upon himself as a poet of no small 
consequence forsooth! 

It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shen- 
stone, whose divine elegies do honour to our lan- 
guage, our nation, and our species, that ' Humility 
* has depressed many a genius to a hermit, but never 
' raised one to fame !' If any critic catches at the 
word genius, the author tells him once for all, that 
he certainty looks upon himself as possessed of some 
poetic abilities^ otherwise his publishing in the manner 
he has done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst 
character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever 
give him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the 
glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Fergusson, 
he, with equal unaffected sincerity, declares., that, 
even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the 
most distant pretensions. These two justly admired 
Scotch poets he has often had in his eye in the fol- 
lowing pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at 
their flame, than for servile imitation. 

To his Subscribers, the Author returns his most 
sincere thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a 
counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the bard, 
conscious how much he owes to benevolence and 
friendship, for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that 
dearest wish of every poetic bosom — to be distin- 
guished. He begs his readers, particularly the learned 
and the polite, who may honour him with a perusal, 
that they will make every allowance for education 
and circumstances of life; but, if after a fair, candid, 
and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of 
dulness and nonsense, let him be done by as he would 
in that case do by others— let him be condemned, 
without mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 



DEDICATION 

OF THE 
SECOND EDITION OF THE 

POEMS FORMERLY PRINTED. 



TO THE 

NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 

OF THE 

CALEDONIAN HUNT. 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard, protid of the name, and whose 
highest ambition is to sing in his Country's service— 
zvhere shall he so properly look for patronage as to 
the illustrious names of his native Land ; those who 
bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their 
Ancestors ? The Poetic Genius of my Country 
found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha 
— at the plough; and threw her inspiring mantle 
over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, th& 
rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, 
in my native tongue ; I tuned my wild, artless 
notes, as she inspired.— She whispered me to come 
to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my 
Songs under your honoured protection : I now obey 
her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do 
not approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in 
the usual style of dedication, to thank you for 
past favours ; that path is so hackneyed by prosti- 
tuted learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of 
it. Nor do I present this Address with the venal 
C3 



[ 6 ] 

soul of a servile Author, looking jbr a continuation 
of those favours : I was bred to the Plough, and am 
independent. J come to claim the common Scottish 
name with you, my illustrious Countrymen ; and 
to tell the world that I glory in the title. I come 
to congratulate my Country, that the blood of her 
ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and 
that from your courage, knowledge, and public 
spirit, she may expect iprdtection, wealth, and li- 
berty. In the last place, I come to proffer my 
warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of Honour, 
the Monarch of the Universe, for your welfare and 
happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the 
ancient and favourite amusement of your fore- 
fathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party; and 
may Social Joy await your return ! When harassed 
in courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men 
and bad measures, may the honest consciousness of 
injured worth attend your return to your native 
Seats ; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smil- 
ing welcome, meet you at your gates! May cor- 
ruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance ; 
and may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness 
in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe ! 
1 have the honour to be, 

With the sincerest gratitude, 
and highest respect, 
My Lords and Gentlemen, 
Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 
April 4, 1787. 



f 7 1 

POEMS, 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



THE TWA DOGS, 

A TALE. 

A WAS in that place a* Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
"When wearing thro' the afteruooD, 
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, 
Forgather' d ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him C&sar, 
Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for Cod, 

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, 
Shewed him the gentleman and scholar; 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride na pride had he; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wr a tinkler-gypsey's messin. 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie 



BURNS' POEMS; 

Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 
Was made lang syne—Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faithful tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his towzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black; 
His gawcie tail., wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' uuco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit 
Whyles mice an' moudie worts they howkit; 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry' d ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
And there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

CJESAR. 
I've aften wonder' d., honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell : 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonnie silken purse 



* Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ! 

As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the stceks, 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trash trie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats at dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honour has in a' the Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't enough j 
A cottar howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and sic like, 
Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 
An' nought but his han' darg, to keep 
Them right and tight in thack an' rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters., 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger; 
But, how it comes, I never kenn'd it, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is., 

CJESAR. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit, 
How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit ! 
L— d, man, our gentry care as little 
For deivers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 



BURNS' POEMS; 

They gang as saucy by poor fo'k, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble; 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches : 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 



LUATH. 

They're nae sae wretched's ane wad think s 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright, 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment, 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives: 
The prattliug things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
Au' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station, 
Unite hi common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth, 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins. 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappy reeks \vi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam' ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid will; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, 
The young anes rantin thro' the house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest fawsont fo'k, 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha' aiblins, thrang a parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin — 

CESAR. 
Haith, lad, ye little ken about it; 
For Britain's guid! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him. 
An' saying aye or no's they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading: 
Or may be, in a frolic daft, 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn 6077 ton an' see ihe worl'. 



BURNS' POEMS; 

There, at Vienna or Versailles 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 
Or by Madrid he takes the rout, 
To thrum guitars, and fetch wi' nowtj 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles : 
Then bouses drumly German water, 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival siguoras. 
For Britain's guid ! for her destruction! 
"Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 

LUATH. 
Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows! 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, 
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Ccesar, 
Sure great folk's life 's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them, 

CJESAR. 

L— d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
Tire gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They make enow themselves to vex them 5 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 
A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acres till'd, he's right enough; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzens done, she's unco weel: 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless; 
Their nights unquiet, lang an' restless; 
An' e'en their sports, their balls an' races., 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches; 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi- crabbit leuks 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman j 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 



14 BURNS' POEMS; 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night: 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone; 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Hejoic'd they were na men but dogs ; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
ResolvM to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 



Gie him strong drink, until he wink. 

That's sinking in despair; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That's prest wi' grief an' care ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. 

LET other Poets raise a fracas 

J Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us. 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch Drink, 
Whether thio' wimpling worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn, 
An' Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' Pease and Beans at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood. 
In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, and keeps us livin; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
"When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grieviu ; 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear : 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile* 

Aft, clad in massy silver weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head; 
Yet humbly kind in time o* need, 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 



16 BURNS' POEMS; 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in ! 
Or reekin on a New-year morning 

In cog or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 
An' gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz au' freath 

I' th' lugget caup ! 
Then Burnezcin* comes on like death 
At ev : ry chaup, 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrewhip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight; 

Wae worth the name ; 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be. 
How easy can the barley-bree 

Cement the quarrel! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 



* Burnewin—burn-the-zeind—the Blacksmith— an 
appropriate title. E. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 17 

Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason 
Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that hrandy, burning trasli ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash, 

O' half his days; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 
To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel ! 
It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 
Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain, 

Out owre a glass o' whisky punch 

Wi' honest men. 

O Whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks! 

Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 

When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a— s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! 

Scotland lament frae coast to coast! 

Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast, 

May kill us a'; 

For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast 

Is ta'en »wa! 



8 BURNS* POEMS; 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the Whisky Stells their prize ! 
Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrics! 
There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunslane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Forturie! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
An' rowth o* rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 



% CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 19 

THE AUTHOR'S 

EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER* 

TO THE 

SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES, 

IN THE 

HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

Dearest of Distillation ! last and best 

How art thou lost! 

Parody on Milton, 

YE Irish Lords, ye Knights an* Squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In parliament, 
To vou a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! 
Your Honors heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 
To see her sittin on her a — 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechin out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust ! 



* This was written before the act anent the Scotch 
Distilleries, of session 1786; for which Scotland and 
the Author return their most grateful thanks. 



10 BURNS' POEMS; 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotla?7d an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er siu'~they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavit a; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 
An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth, 
The honest, open, naked truth : 
Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Dees ony great man glunch an' gloom? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'ring votes you were na slack; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fldge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrhsle ; 
Her mutch kin stoup as toom's a whissle : 
Aii d — mu'd Excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin a Stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard Smuggler right behint her, 
An' cheek'for-chow, a chuffie Vintner. 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 

Of a' kind coin. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! 
But could I like Montgomeries fight, 

Or gab like Boswell^ 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight. 
An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honors, can ye seeH, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winua bear it! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period, an' pause, 
An' wi' rhetoric clause ou clause 

To mak harangues; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa!s 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran : 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ;* 
An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham /t 
An' ane, a chap that's d— mn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name. 



* Sir Adam Ferguson. E. 

i The present Duke of Montrose. E. 



fc BURNS' POEMS 

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay ; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld -Sir Willie; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle; 
Or faith! Ill wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll see't, or laog, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Ahither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whisky. 

An' L — d, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kiltj, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

F the first she meets. 

For G-d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive, wi' a' your Wit and Lear, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! 

E'en cowe the caddie; 
An' send him to his dicing box 

An' sportin lady. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. «a 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bounocks, 
An' drink his health in anld Nansc Tinnock's* 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnock*. 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he seme commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch, 
The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung. 
She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty , 
May still your Mither's heart support ye; 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty, 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 
Before his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes, 

That haunt St. Jamie's.' 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 



* A worthy old Hostess of the Author's in Mauch- 
line, where he sometimes studies Politics over a glass 
of guid auld Scotch Drink. 
D 2 



BURNS* POEMS; 



POSTSCRIPT. 

LET half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich clustering, rise 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms I 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; 
They dowua bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To stan' or rin, 
Till skelp— a shot — they're aif, a' throwther, 

To save their skin. 

#ut bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

An' there's the foe, 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him: 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him; 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him : 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 



CHTEFLY SCOTTISH. 25 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime and season; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither 
Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and Whisky gang thegither! 

Tak aff your dram ! 



THE HOLY FAIR* 

A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la~mode. 



UPON a simmer Sunday morn, 
When Nature's face is fair, 

I walked forth to view the corn, 
An' snuff the caller air, 



* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of 
Scotland for a sacramental occasion. 



26 BURNS' POEMS; 

The rising sun owre Galston muirs, 
Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 

The hares were hirplin down the furs, 
The iav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 

II. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin up the way ; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a-wee-a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining, 

Fu' gay that day. 

III. 
The twa appeared like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an' claes! 
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes: 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As light as ouy lambie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

IV. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, * Sweet lass, 

' I think ye seem to ken me ; 
' I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 

' But yet I canna name ye.' 
^uo' she, an' laughin as she spak, 

An' taks me by the hands, 
' Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

' Of a' the ten commands 

' A screed some day* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 27 



V. 

My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

■ The nearest friend ye hae ; 

An' this is Superstition here, 

' An' that's Hypocrisy. 
'Vm gaun to********* Holy Fair, 

e To spend an hour in daffin : 
e Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, 

* We will get famous laughin 

' At them this day.* 

VI. 

Quoth I, ' With a* my heart, I'll do't; 

' I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 
* An' meet you on the holy spot; 

* Faith we'se hae fine remarkin !' 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad ; frae side to side, 
Wi' monie a wearie body, 

In droves that day. 

VII. 
Here farmers gash, in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters; 
There, swankies, young, in braw braid-claith 

Are springin o'er the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 

Axifarls bak'd wi' butter 

Fu' crump that day. 

VIII. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heap'd up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 



BURNS' POEMS; 

Then in we go to see the show, 

On e% T 'ry side they're gathrin, 
Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stooIs>. 

An' some are busy blethrin 

Right loud that day. 

IX. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra Gentry, 
There, racer Jess, an' twa- three wh-res* 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin jades, 

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, 
An' there a batch of wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae K ck 

Tot fun this day. 

X. 

Here some are thinkin on their sins, 

An' some upo' their claes;. 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces ; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 

XT. 

O happy is that man an' blest! 

Nae wonder that it pride him I 
Wba's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ! 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,, 

An's loof upon her bosom. 

Unken'd that day. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. &j 

XII. 

Now a* the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation; 
p or ****** speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' d-mn-t — n. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' G — present him, 
ilie vera sight o' * * * * *'s face, 

To's ain het harae had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

XIII. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turu'd up snout, 

His eldritch squeel and gestures, 
Oh how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidiau plasters. 
On sic a day ! 

XIV. 

But, hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice ; 

There's peace an' rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
***** opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

XV. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs and reason? 
His English style, an' gesture fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
D 3 



30 BURNS' POEMS; 

Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day, 

XVI. 
In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum; 
For ****** *, frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' G — , 

An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 
While Common-Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,* 
Fast, fast, that day. 

XVII. 
Wee ******, niest, the Guard relieves., 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkie wants a Manse^ 

So, cannily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafnins-ways o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

XVIII. 

Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 

An' there the pint stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end, 

Js like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

* A street so called, which faces the tent in . 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

XIX. 
Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles wit, it waukens lair, 

It pangs us fou o' knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 

XX. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk s 

They're making observations; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations, 

To meet some day. 

XXI. 

But now the L— d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black ****** is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highland swords, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' H-ll, where devils dwell, 

Our vera sauls does harrow* 

Wi' fright that day. 



* Shakspeare's Hamlet. 



32 BURNS' POEMS; 



XXII. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o* lowin brunstane, 
Wha's Tagin flame, an* scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin. 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snoriu 
Asleep that day. 

XXIII. 
Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in eogs an' caup$, 

Amang the furms and benches; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches, 

An' dawds that day, 

XXIV. 

In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them ? t like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

XXV- 
Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

X)r melvie his braw claithing J 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

O wives, be mindfu\ ance yoursel, 

How bonie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day I 

XXVT. 
Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jo w an* croon ; 
-Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
W faith and hope, an' love an' drink, 
They're a' in famous tune, 

For crack that day. 

XXVII. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinuers and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane, 

As saft as ony flesh is 
There's some are fou o* love divine ; 

There's some are fou o' brandy; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May eud in Houghmagandie 
Some ither day. 



34 BURNS' POEMS; 

DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 

A TRUE STORY. 

SOME books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd: 
Ev*n Ministers, they hae been kenn'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times, to vend, 

And nail't wi* Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befel, 
Is just as true's the Deil's in h-ll 

Or Dublin eity : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 

I was na fou, but just had plenty : 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The rising moon began to glow'r 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre : 
To count her horns, wi* a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's mill, 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker; 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 35 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 

That put me in an eerie swither; 

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear- dangliDg, hang; 
A three-tae'd leister on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame it had ava ! 

And then, its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp au' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks. 

* Guid-een,' quo' I ; ' Friend ! hae ye been mawin y 
1 When ither folk are busy sawin ?'* 

It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naethiug spak; 

At length, says I, ' Friend, whare ye gaun, 
4 Will ye go back ?' 

It spak right howe, — * My name is Death, 
' But be na' fley'd.'— Quoth I, f Guid faith, 

* Ye're may be come to stap my breath ; 

'But tent me billie : 
■ I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

1 See, there's a gully P 

* Gudeman,' quo' he, ' put up your whittle, 

* I'm no design'd to try its mettle; 
' But if I did, I wad be kittle 

* To be mislear'd, 

* I wad na mind it, no, that spittle 

* Out-owre my beard. 



* This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. 



36 BURNS' POEMS; 

1 Weel, weel !' says I, ' a bargain be f t; 

1 Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; 

■ We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

( Come, gies your news ; 
1 This while* ye hae been mony a gate 

* At mony a house.' 

' Ay, ay!' quo' he, an' shook his head, 

* It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 

■ Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

* An' choke the breath : 
' Folk maun do something for their bread, 

* An' sae maun Death, 

* Sax thousand years are near hand fled 

■ Sin' I was to the hutching bred, 

* An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

1 To stap or scar me ; 

■ Till ane Hombook'si ta'en up the trade, 

■ An' faith, he'll waur me. 

' Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 
1 Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! 
1 He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan i 
' An* ither chaps, 

* The weans baud out their fingers laughin 

* And pouk my hips. 

f See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 

* They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; 

* But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

' And cursed skill, 

* Has made them baith no worth a f— t, 

Damn'd haet they'll kill. 

* An epidemical fever was then raging in that 
country. 

t This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, 
a brother of the Sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, 
by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothe- 
cary, Surgeon, and Physician. 

% Buchan's Domestic Medicine. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 57 

' 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

* I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

* "Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; 

' But deil-ma-care, 
' It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

* But did nae main 

' Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
1 And had sae fortify'd the part, 
' That when I looked to my dart, 

1 It was sae blunt, 
' Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the hearfe 

' Of a kail-runt. 

' I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 

* I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
■ But yet the bauld Apothecary 

' Withstood the shock ; 
' I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

1 Ev'n them he canna get attended, 
' Altho' l heir face he ne'er had kend it, 

* Just in a kail-blade, and send it, 

* As soon he smells't, 

' Baith their disease, and -what will mend it, 
' At once he tells't. 

* And then a' doctor's saws and whittles,. 

* Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
' A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

' He's sure to hae; 

* Their Latin names as fast he rattles. 

■ As ABC. 

' Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees; 
' True Sal-marinum o' the seas; 
' The Farina of beans and pease, 

* He has't in plenty; 

* Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

1 He can content ye. 



i BURNS' POEMS; 

1 Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 
' Urinus Spiritus of capons; 
Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

* Distill'd per se; 
■ Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings, 

' And mony mae.' 

1 Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,' 

Quo' I, ' if that the news be true ! 

' His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 

' Sae white and bonie, 
' Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew j 

4 They'll ruin Johnie!* 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, * Ye need na yoke the pleugh, 
' Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

* Tak ye nae fear: 

4 They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh 

* In twa-three year. 

1 Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
1 By loss o' blood or want of breath. 
' This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

' That Hornbook's skill 
' Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

' By drap an' pill. 

* An honest Wabster to his trade, 

• Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, 
' Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

* When it was sair; 
' The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

' But ne'er spak mair. 



* The grave-digger* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

* A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, 
■ Or some curmurring in his guts, 

' His only son for Hornbook sets, 

■ An' pays him well. 

* The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, 

* Was laird himsel. 

' A bonie lass, ye kend her name, 

1 Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame : 

* She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

■ In Hornbook's care 
1 Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 

' To hide it there. 

* That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; 

* Thus goes he on from day to day, 

1 Thus does he poison, kill, an* slay, 

* An's weel paid for't ; 
' Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

' Wi' his d-ran'd dirt : 

* But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
' Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't; 

' I'll nail the self-conceited Scot, 

1 As dead's a herrin : 

' Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

' He gets his fairin !' 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

And sae did Death* 



40 BURNS' POEMS; 

THE BRIGS OF AYR, 

A POEM. 

Inscribed to J. B*********, Esq. Ayr. 

THE simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush ; 

The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 

Or deep-ton' d plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill 5 

Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 

To hardy Independence bravely bred, 

By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, 

And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field ; 

Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 

The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 

Or labour hard the panegyric close, 

With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ? 

No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 

And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 

He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 

fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. 

Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 

Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 

When B********* befriends his humble name, 

And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 

With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, 

The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap j 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up fra skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 



.} 



:} 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 4t 

The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnuraber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek : 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie. 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree: 
The hoary morns precede the suuny days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide blaze 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays 
'Twas in that season, when a simple bard, 
Unknown and poor; simplicity's reward, 
Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 
£y whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care ; 
He left his bed, and took his wayward route, 
And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the left about : 
(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 
To witness what I after shall narrate; 
Or whether, rapt iu meditation high, 
He wander'd out he knew not where nor why :) 
The drowsy Dungeon-clock\ had number'd two, 
And Wallace Toztfrt had sworn the fact was true : 
The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen sounding roar, 
Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore : 
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept, gently crusting, o'er the glittering stream.— 



A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end, 
t The two steeples. 



42 BURNS' POEMS ; 

When, lo ! on either hand the listening Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings he heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gos* drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry' d 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is uae joke, 
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual fo'k ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them. 
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 
The vera wriukles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
Yet teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Lorton, frae ane Adams, got; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He, down the water, gies him this guideen:— 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see; 
There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 



* The gos hawk, or falcon. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 43 

NEW BRIG. 
Aiild Vandal, ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet. 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk, o' stane an' lime, 
Compare wi' bonie Brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men o' taste would tak the Ducat-stream,* 
Tho' they should cast the very sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff 'd up wi' windy pride ! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
Buttwa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpali draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 
In mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; 
And from Glenbuck,% down to the Ratton-key,§ 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea; 



* A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 

t The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few 
places in the West of Scotland, where those fancy- 
scaring beings, known by the name of Ghaists, still 
continue pertinaciously to inhabit. 

% The source of the river Ayr. 

§ A small landing place above the large key. 



44 BURNS' POEMS; 

Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash thegumlie jaups up to the pouring skies = 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost! 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth,I needs must say't o't! 
TheL — dbe thankit that we've tint the gate o't! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; 
O'er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves; 
"Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste, unblest; 
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd ou the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion; 
Fancies that our guid Br ugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveenerz, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners j 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town; 
Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters : 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers : 



} 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 45 

A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the brooi 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ? 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race ! 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country; 
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your well-hain'd gear on d — d new Brigs 
and Harbours! 

NEW BRIG. 
Now haud you there ! for faith ye've said enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through, 
As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle-: 
But, under favor o' your langer beard, 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd: 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
T must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 
To mouth ' a Citizen,' a term o' scandal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit; 
Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops au' raisins, 
Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, 
And would to Common-sense, for once betray'd them, 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



46 BURNS' POEMS; 

"What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell; but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd : 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung. 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan,* thairm-inspiring Sage, -^ 

Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, i 

When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with i 
Highland rage, J 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And ev'nhis matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd \ 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief advanc'd in years; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound, 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; 
Then, crown'd with fiow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
Led yellow Autumn wreath' d with nodding corn; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 



* A well known performer of Scottish music on 
the violin. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 47 

Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, 
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair ; 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : 
Last, white rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of death ; 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kiudhng 
wrath. 



THE ORDINATION. 

For sense they little owe to Frugal Heav'n. — 
To please the Mob they hide the little giv'n. 

I. 

KILMARNOCK Wabsters fidge an' claw, 

An' pour your creeshie nations ; 
An' ye wha leaiher rax an' draw. 

Of a' denominations, 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a', 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to B-gb— 's in a raw, 

Au' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

II. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h 11, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ;* 
But 0*******aft made her yell, 

An' E-***** sair misca'd her; 

* Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on 
the admission of the late Reverend and worthy Mr. 
L. to the Laigh Kirk, 

£ 2 



43 BURNS' POEMS; 

This day M' ****** * takes the flail, 
And he's the boy will blaud her ! 

He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 
An' set the bairns to daub her 

Wi' dirt this day. 

III. 
Mak haste an' turn king David owre, 

An' lilt wi 1 holy clangor; 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor ; 
This day the kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

Au' gloriously shall whang her 

"Wi' pith this day. 

IV. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham* leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger; 
Or Phineasi drove the murdering blade, 

Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour; 
Or Zipporah,i the scauldin jade, 

Was like abluidy tiger 

I' th' inn that day. 



There, try his mettle on the creed, 
And bind him down wi' caution, 

That Stipend is a carnal weed 
He taks but for the fashion; 



* Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. 
+ Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8. 
% Exodus, ch. iv, ver. 25. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 49 

And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie thern sufficient threshin, 

Spare them nae day, 

VI. 
Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, 

And toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale, 

Because thy pasture's scanty; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick and wale, 

No gi'en by way o' dainty, 

But ilka day. 

VII. 
Nae mair by BdbeVs streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zion : 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin: 
Come, screw the pegswi' tunefu' cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, 

Aa' a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu' fast this day ! 

VIII. 
Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' aim., 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfairn, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn* 

He saw mischief was brewin; 
And like a'godly elect bairn, 

He's wal'd us out a true ane, 

And sound this day, 



50 BURKS' POEMS ; 

IX. 

Now R******* harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of A**, 

For there they'll think you clever; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver j- 
Or to the N-th-rt-n repair, 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 

X. 

^1 # # * * * an d y 0U yfere just a match, 

We never had sic twa drones : 
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

Just like a winkin baudrons : 
And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons : 
But now his honour maun detach, 

TVi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast this day. 

XI. 
See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein thro' the city : 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! 

I vow its unco pretty : 
There; Learning, with his Greekish face. 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day, 

XII. 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there— they're packed aff to hell, 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

XTII. 
O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice* 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
M< ****** *, R *****, are the boys, 

That Heresy can torture ; 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 

And cow her measure shorter 

By th'head some day. 

XIV. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 

And here's, for a conclusion, 
To every New Light* mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion : 
If mair they deave us with their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

"We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



* New Light is a cant phrase, in the West of 
Scotland, for those religious opinions which Dr. Tay- 
lor of Norwich has defended so strenuously. 



52 BURNS' POEMS j 

THE CALF. 

TO THE REV. MR. . 

On his Text, Malachi. ch. iv. ver. 2. " And they 
" shall go forth, and grow up, like calves of the 
• stall." 

RIGHT, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Though Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance ; there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf! 

And should some Patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find,. 

Ye're still as great a Stirk. 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Stot! 

Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, 

Your but-and-ben adorns, 
The like has been, that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte, 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 

To rank amang the nowte. 

And when ye're number'd wi'the deal, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — 

* Here lies a famous Bullock!'' 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 53 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



O Prince! O Chief of many throned Pozo'rs, 
That led th y embattled Seraphim to war. 

Milton. 



O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

E'en to a deil, 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; 
Far kend and noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far; 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

"Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion, 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 

Tirling the kirks ; 
"Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, 
Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend Graunie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
E 3 



BURNS' POEMS; 

Or where auld-ruin'd castles, gray, 
Nod to the moon, 

Ye fright the nightly waud'rer's way, 
Wi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Grannie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, 
Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 
Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough: 
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick— quaick— 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squattered, like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 
By witching skill: 
An' daw tit, twal-pint Hazvkie's gaen 
As yell's the Bill, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 55 

Thence mystic knots roak great abuse, 
On young Guidman, fond, keen, an' crouse; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house, 

By cantrip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse. 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord 
An' float the jinglin icy-boord, 
Then Water-kelpies haunt thefoord. 

By your direction, 
An' nighted Travelers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your raoss-traversing Spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys 

Delude, his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Maso?is' mystic word an' grip 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 
Aff straught to hell ! 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd 

The raptur'd houi, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird., 

In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snic-drawing dog ! 
Ye came to Paradise incog. 
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa !) 
An' gied the infaut warld a shog, 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 



56 BURNS' POEMS- 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better fo'k, 
An' sklented on the man of Uzz 

Your spitefu' joke? 

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 

"Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, 
Was warst ava? 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael* did you pierce, 

Dovvn to this time, 

Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thiukin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit; 
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake— 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! 



* Vide Milton, Book VI. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



THE 

DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF 
POOR MAILIE, 

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. 

AS Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc* he cam do y tin by. 

Wi' glowtineen, an' lifted han's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
But, waes my heart! he could na mend it ! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak ! 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

1 O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 

1 Tell him, if e'er again he keep, 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or^hair ! 

* A neibor herd-callan. 



58 BURNS' POEMS; 

But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An* let them wander at their will; 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo'! 

1 Tell him, he was a Master kin'. 
An' ay was guid to me and mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs T trust them wi' him. 

* O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel: 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay an' rips o' corn. 

' An' may they never learn the gaets 
Of ither vile wanrestfu' pets! 
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great Forbears, 
For monie a year come thro' the sheers : 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

' My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
An', if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An* no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither mensless, graceless, brutes. 

' An' niest my yowie, silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 59 

But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

■ And now, my bairDS, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith: 
An' when you think upo' your Hither, 
Mind to be kin* to ane anither. 

' Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, 
To tell my Master a' my tale; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether.' 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

LAMENT iu rhyme, lament in prose., 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead; 
The last sad cape-stane of his woes ; 

Poor MaUie's dead ! 

Its no the loss o' warFs gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed: 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him| 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 



60 BURNS' POEMS; 

Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 
She ran wi' speed : 

A friend mair faith fu' ne'er cam nigh him, 
Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi* mense: 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 

Sin' Mailie 's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image in her yowe, 
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi* tawted ket, an' hairy hips; 
For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed .* 
A bonier fieesh ne'er cross 1 d the clips 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing— a rape ! 
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, 

Wi* chokin dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye bards on bonie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon ! 

His Mailie dead. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



TO J. S****. 



Friendship I mysterious cement of the soul! 
Sweefner of life, and solder of society! 
I owe thee much* 



Blair. 



DEAR S * * * *, the sleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Owre humau hearts; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair taen I'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin, Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, the Man* 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime 
My fancie yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 



to ' BURNS' POEMS; 

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash; 
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; 
Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
An' damn'd my fortune to the groat; 

But in requit, 
Has bless'd me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, ' Hoolie! 
' I red you, honest man, tak tent! 

* Ye'll shaw your folly. 

' There's ither poets, much your betters, 
• Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
' Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 

* A' future ages ; 

< Now moths deform in shapeless tetters 

' Their unknown pages.' 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISFT. 6.1 

I'll wander on, with teutless heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown,, 
I'll lay me with the inglorious dead, 

Forgot and. gone ! 

But why o' death begin a tale ? 
Just now we're living sound and hale, 
Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave care o'er side ! 
And large, before enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted fairy land, 
Where pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic-wand then let us wield; 
For, ance that five-an-forty's speel'd, 
See crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinkled face, 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 
Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin, 

An' social noise ; 
An' farewell, dear deluding wdman, 

The joy of joys! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, 

To joy and play. 



6i BURNS' POEMS; 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the tborn is near, 

Among the leaves; 
And though the puDy wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
Por which they never toiPd nor swat; 
They drink the sweet, and eat the fat r 

But care or pain; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some fortune chase; 
Keen Hope does every sinew brace; 
Thro' fair, through foul, they urge the race ; 

And seize the prey ; 
Then canie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan'; 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin; 
To right or left, eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin» 

They aften groan. 

Alas I what bitter toil an' straining — 
But, truce with peevish, poor complaining! 
Is fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang \ 
Beneath what light she has remaining., 

Let's sing our sang, 

My pen I here fling to the door, 
And kneel, ' Ye Pow'rs!' and warm implore, 
■ Tho'I should wander terra o'er, 

' In all her climes. 
'Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

' Ay rowth o' rhymes. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 65 

,' Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, 

* Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 

* Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards, 

* And maids of honour; 
1 And yill an' whiskey gie to cairds, 

* Until they sconner. 

■ A title, Dempster merits it; 
' A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 

* Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 

In cent, per cent. 
■ But give me real, sterling wit, 

* And I'm content. 

c "While ye are pleased to keep me hale, 

* I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 

* Be't water-brose or muslin-kail, 

* Wi' cheerfu' face, 
1 As lang's the muses dinna fail 

* To say the grace.' 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may ; 
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 

I rhyme away. 

O ye douce folk, that live by rule, 

Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 

Compar'd wi' you— O fool! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike! 

Tour hearts are just a standing poo], 

Your lives ,a dykei 



ffi BURNS' POEMS; 

Nae hair-braiti'd, sentimental traces 
In your uuletter'd, nameless faces! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But, gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye' re wisej 
Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 

The rattlin squad : 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

— Ye ken the road.— 

Whilst I— but I shall baud rae there— 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where— 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi' you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 67 



A DREAM. 

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with 

reason; 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason . 



[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureates Ode, 
with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author 
was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined 
himself transported to the birth-day levee; and in 
his dreaming fancy made the following Address.} 



I. 
GUID-MORNIN to your Majesty! 

May heav'u augment your blisses, 
On every new birth-day ye see, 

A humble poet wishes! 
My hardship here, at your levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang the birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day. 

II. 

I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By many a lord and lady ; 
* God save the king ! ' 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay; 



68 BURNS' POEMS; 

The poets, too, a venal gang, 
Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 

Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wraug, 
But ay unerring steady, 

On sic a day. 

III. 

For me ! before a monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna natter; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on your grace, 

Your kingship to bespatter; 
There's monie waur been o' the race, 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day. 

IV. 
? Tis very true, my sov'reign king, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But facts are cheels that winna ding, 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 

V. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame ycrur legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But, faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

Ye've trusted ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 69 

VI. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, 

Her broken shins to plaster ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 

VII. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get, 

A name not envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, G-d's-sake! let nae saving-Jit 

Abridge your bonie barges 

An' boats this day. 

VIII. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth-day. 

IX. 
Hail, Majesty Most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 
A simple poet gies ye ? 
F 



70 BURKS' POEMS; 

Thae bonie bairntime, Heav'n has lent, 
Still higher may they heeze ye 

In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 
For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 

X. 

For you, young potentate o' W , 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, 

By night or day. 

XI. 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known 

To make a noble aiver ; 
So, ye may doucely fill a throne. 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, him* at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir Jokn,i 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 

XII. 

For you, right rev'rend O 1 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 

Although a ribban at your lug 
Wad been a dress completer : 



* King Henry V. 
t Sir John Falstaff: vide Shakespeare. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

As ye disown yon paughty dog 
That bears the keys of Peter, 

Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 
Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the mitre 
Some luckless day. 

XIII. 
Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her; 
A glorious galley,* stem an' stern, * 

"Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Then heave aboard your grapple airn, 

An', large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

XIV. 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a% 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a-plenty : 
But sneer nae British boys awa', 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German gentles are but sma\ 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

XV. 
God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautet ; 
But, ere the course o' life be thro', 

It may be bitter sautet : 



* Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain 
•oyal sailor's amour. 

F 2 



72 BURNS* POEMS; 

An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 
That yet hae tarrow't at it; 

But or the day was done, I trow, 
The laggen they hae clautet 

Fu' clean that day. 



THE VISION. 

DTXAN FIRST.* 

THE sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play, 
An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had clos'd his e'e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, 
I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld clay biggin; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin. 



* Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divi- 
sions of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. 
ii. of MTherson's translation. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 73 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 
An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 
For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a markec, 
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit 

My cash account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead ! coof ! 
And heavM on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 
Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick did draw ; 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw. 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Ilizsie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crush t ; 
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 
And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefa', round her brows ; 



i BURNS' POEMS; 

I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 

An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken, 

A ' hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,' 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildy-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honor. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen ; 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonie Jean 

Could only peer it; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 
INane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch' d floods; 
There, well-fed Trwine stately thuds : 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 75 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 
An ancient borough rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 
Or ruins pendent in the air, 
Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 
"With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a race* heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their suthorn foes. 

His Country's Saviour,** mark him well ! 
Bold Richardtorts,\ heroic swell : 
The chief on Sark% who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land, 



* The Wallaces. ** William Wallace. 

f Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the im- 
mortal preserver of Scottish independence. 

X Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in 
command, under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the fa- 
mous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. 
That glorious victory was principally owing to the ju- 
dicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant 
Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the 
action. 



BURNS' POEMS; 

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade* 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 

In colours strong; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 

Thro* many a wild, romantic grove,f 
Near many a hermit fancy'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love) 

In musing mood, . 
An aged judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

"With deep-struck reverential awe{ 
The learned sire and son I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore., 
This, all its source and end to draw y 
That, to adore. 

Brydo?ie } s brave ward§ I well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye; 
Who call'd on fame, low standing by, 
To hand him on, , 
Where many a patriot name on high, 
And hero shone. 



* Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the dis- 
trict of Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as 
tradition says, near the family seat of the Montgome- 
ries of Coil's-field, where his burial-place is still 
shown. 

t Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk. 

X Catrine, the seat of the late doctor, and present 
professor Stewart. 

§ Colonel Fullarton. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



DUAN SECOND. 



WITH musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heav'nly-seeming,/>Mr > ° 
A whispering throb did witness bear, 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 

' All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 
' In me thy native muse regard ! 
' Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

* Thus poorly low ! 
' I come to give thee such reward 

* As we bestow. 

* Know, the great genius of this land 
' Has many a light, aerial band, 
' Who, all beneath his high command, 

' Harmoniously, 
' As arts or arms they understand, 

* Their labours ply. 

■ They Scotia's race among them share; 
' Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
1 Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

' Corruption's heart : 
'Some teach the bard, a darling care, 

' The tuneful art. 

' 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
' They, ardent, kindling spirits pour; 
• Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar, 

* They, sightless, stand, 
' To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

' And grace the hand." 
F3 



78 BURNS' POEMS; 

r And when the bard, or hoary sage, 

* Charm or instruct the future age, 

* They bind the wild poetic rage 

' In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

' Full on the eye. 

1 Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 

* Hence Dempster's zeal inspired tongue ; 
' Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

* His " Minstrel lays;'* 
' Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

' The sceptic's bays. 

1 To lower orders are assign'd 
' The humbler ranks of human kind., 

* The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

* The Artisan ; 

1 All chuse, as various they're inclin'd, 
' The various man. 

• When yellow waves the heavy grain, 

* The threat'ning storm some strongly rein; 

* Some teach to meliorate the plain 

« With tillage-skill; 

* And some instruct the shepherd-train 

* Blythe o'er the hill. 

1 Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
1 Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 

■ Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil, 

' For humble gains, 

■ And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

« His cares and pains. 

* Some, bounded to a district-space, 

* Explore at large man's infant race, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 79 

* To mark the embryotic trace 

' Of rustic Bard; , 

* And careful note each op'ning grace, 

* A guide and guard. 

' Of these am I—Coila my name; 
' And this district as mine I claim, 
' Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame 

* Held ruling pow'r : 
' I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

* Thy natal hour. 

"With future hope, I oft would gaze 

* Fond, on thy little early ways, 

' Thy rudely caroll'd chiming phrase, 

' In uncouth rhymes, 
' Fir'd at the simple artless lays 

* Of other times. 

' I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
' Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
' Or when the north his fleecy store 

' Drove thro' the sky, 

* I saw grim nature's visage hoar, 

* Struck thy young eye. 

' Or when the deep green-man tl'd earth 

* Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 

* And joy and music pouring forth 

* In ev'ry grove, 

* I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

* With boundless love. 

* When ripen'd fields, and azure skies., 

* Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
' I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

* And lonely stalk, 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

4 In pensive v/alk. 



BURNS' POEMS | 

' When youthful love, warm-blushing, strongs 
' Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
' Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

r Th' adored Name, 
1 I taught thee how to pour in song, 
1 To sooth thy flame, 

« I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 

* Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
' Misled by fancy's meteor ray, 

* By passion driven ; 
? But yet the light that led astray 

' Was light from heaven, 

' I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
s The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
' Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

* Thy fame extends : 

' And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

* Become thy friends. 

' Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
4 To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow; 

* Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

' With Shenstone's art; 
' Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 
' Warm on the heart. 

■ Yet all beneath th' unrivalTd rose, 

* The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

* Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

* His army shade, 

* Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

■ Adown the glade. 

' Then never murmur nor repine ; 
' Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

' And trust me, not PotosVs mine, 
* Nor kings' regard, 

* Can give a bliss o'er-matching thine, 

' A rustic Bard, 

' To give my counsels all in one, 
' Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
' Preserve the Dignity of Man, 

' With soul erect ; 

* And trust, the Universal Plan 

1 Will all protect. 

' And wear thou this /'— she solemn said. 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 
Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 
In light away, 



12 BURKS' POEMS j 

ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, 

OR, THE 

RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a ruU t 

And lump them ay thegither ; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool, 

The Rigid Wise anither ; 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' coffin; 
So ne'er a fellow<reature slight 

For random Jits o y daffin. 

Solomon. — Eccles. ch. vii. ven 16* 

I. 

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebour's faults and folly ! 
"Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply'd wi' store o' water, 
The heapet happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

II. 
Hear me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaikit Folly's portals; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks., their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mischances. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

III. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, 

And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 

IV. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 

V. 

See social life and glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

Debauchery and drinking: 
O, would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences; 
Or your more dreaded hell to state 

D-mnation of expenses ! 

VI. 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases; 



BURNS* POEMS; 

A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

VII. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang; 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it, 

VIII. 

"Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord— its various tone, 

Each spring, its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's insisted. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 85 



TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. 

An honest marts the noblest work of God. 

Pope. 

HAS auld K*** ****** seen the Dell? 
Or great M' ******* f thrawn his heel ! 
Or R*******+ again grown weel, 

To preach an' read ? 
' Na, waur than a'!' cries ilka chiel, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

K********* Jang may grunt an' grane, 
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, 
An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, 

In mourning weed; 
To death, she's dearly paid the kane, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

The brethren of the mystic level 
May hing their head in woefu' bevel, 



* When this worthy old sportsman went out last 
muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossi- 
au's phrase, ' the last of his fields ;' and expressed 
an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. 
On this hint the author composed his elegy and epi- 



t A certain preacher, a great favourite with the 
million. Vide the Ordination, stanza II. 

% Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, 
who was at that time ailing. For him, see also the 
Ordination, stanza IX. 



86 BURNS' POEMS ; 

While by their nose the tears will revel, 
Like ony bead ; 

Death's gien the lodge an unco devel : 
Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock ? 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

He was the king o' a' the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time of need ; 
But now he lags on death's hog-score 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, 
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels weel ken'd for souple tail, 

And geds for greed, 
Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail 
Tam Samson dead ! 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw; 
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braWj, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa', 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd, 
Saw him in shootin graith adom'd 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

I'rae couples freed; 
But, och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tam Samson's dead! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 3 

In vain auid age his body batters ; 
In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 
In vain the burns came down like waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Owre many a weary hag he limpit, 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide; 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed; 
' L— d, five !' he cry'd, an' owre did stagger; 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father; 
Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether. 
Tam Samson's dead / 

There low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, 

To hatch an' breed; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 



BURNS' POEMS j 

Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead, 

Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tarn Samson's dead! 

Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is th' -wish o' mony mae than me ; 
He had twa faults, or may be three, 

Yet what remead? 
Ae social, honest man want -we : 

Tarn Samson's dead! 



THE EPITAPH. 



TAM SAMSON'S weel-worn clay here lies, 
Te canting zealots, spare him ! 

If honest worth in heaven rise, 
Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, fame, an' canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,* 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 
For yet, uuskaith'd by death's gleg gullie, 
Tarn Samson's livin. 



* Killie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes 
use for Kilmarnock. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 89 

HALLOWEEN* 

[ The following Poem will, by many readers, be well 
enough understood ; but for the sake of those who 
are unacquainted with the manners and tradi- 
tions of the country where the scene is cast, notes 
are added, to give some account of the principal 
charms and spells of that night, so big with pro- 
phecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. 
The passion of prying into futurity makes a 
striking part of the history of human nature in 
its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it 
may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, 
if any such should honour the author with a 
perusal, to see the remains of it among the more 
unenlightened in our own. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 

Goldsmith. 

I. 

UPON that night, when fairies light, 

On Cassilis Downansf dance, 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 



* Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, 
and other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on 
their baneful, midnight errands; particularly those 
aerial people, the Fairies, are said on that night to 
hold a grand anniversary. 

t Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the 
neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of 
Cassilis. 



?0 BURNS* POEMS ; 

Or for Colean the route is ta'en, 
Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 

There up the cove,* to stray an' rove 
Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night. 

II. 

Amang the bonnie winding banks, 
Where Boon rins, wimplin, clear, 
\ Where Brucet ance rul'd the martial ranks, 
An' shook the Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, 
And haud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night, 

III. 

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 

Whiles fast that night. 



* A noted cavern near Colean-house, called The 
Cove of Colean; which, as Cassilis Downans, is 
famed in country story for being a favourite haunt of 
fairies. 

t The famous family of that name, the ancestors of 
Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls 
of Carrick. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. <U 

IV. 

Then first and foremost, thro* the kail, 

Their stocks* maun a' be sought ance; 
They steek their een, an' graip an* wale, 

For muckle anes an' str aught anes. 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, 

An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 
An' pow't, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail , 

Sae bow't that night, 

V. 
Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee things, todlin, rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the customs sweet or sour, 

"Wi' joctelegs they taste them; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them 
To lie that night. 



* The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each 
a stocky or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in 
hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet 
with : Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is 
prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of 
all their spells— the husband or wife. If any yird, 
or 'earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or for- 
tune ; and the state of the custoc, that is, the heart 
of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and 
disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their 
ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed some- 
where above the head of the door ; and the christian 
names of the people whom chance brings into the 
house, are, according to the priority of placing the 
runts, the names in question. 



9? BURNS' POEMS; 

VI. 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a' 

To pou their stalks o' corn ;* 
But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thoru : 
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast; 

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

"When kiuttlin in the fause-houset 
Wi' him that night. 

VII. 
The auld guid wife's weel hoordet nitsl 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads and lasses' fates, 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa wi' saucy pride, 

And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 



* They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three 
several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants 
the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the 
stalk, the party in question will come to the marri- 
age-bed any thing but a maid. 

+ When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being 
too green, or wet, the stack builder, by means of old 
timber, &c, makes a large apartment in his stack, 
with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed 
to the wind; this he calls a fause-house. 

% Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They 
name the lad and lass to each particular nut, as they 
lay them in the fire, and accordingly as they burn 
quietly together, or start from beside one another, the 
course and issue of the courtship will be. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 9$ 



VIII. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; 

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; 
But this is Jock, an' this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part! 
Till fuff! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

IX. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
An' Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie : 
Mall's uit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it; 
While Willie lap, and swoor by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 

X. 

Nell had the fause-house in her min*, 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin: 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view, 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonnie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

XI. 

But Merran sat behint their backs. 
Her thoughts ou Andrew Bell ; 

She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 
And slips out by hersel : 
G 



94 BURNS' POEMS; 

She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 
An' to the kiln she goes then, 

An' darklins grapit for the bauks, 
And in the blue-clue* throws then, 

Right fear't that night* 

XII. 

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin; 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid L— d ! but she was quakin ! 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en ! , 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 

XIII. 

Wee Jenny to her Graunie says, 
' "Will ye go wi' me, graunie ? 

* I'll eat the apple t at the glass, 
' I gat frae uncle Johnie :' 



* "Whoever would, with success, try this spell, 
mu>t strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all 
alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot a 
clue of blue ydrn; wind it in a new clue' off the old 
one ; and, towards the latter end, something will 
hold the thread; demand, zvha hands? i.e. who 
holds ? an answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, 
by naming the christian and surname of your future 
spouse. 

t Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; 
eat an apple before it, and some traditions say, you 
should comb your hair all the time; the face of your 
conjugal companion to be, will be seen in the glass, 
as if peeping over your shoulder. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. §5 

She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic't na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night, 

XIV. 
' Ye little skelpie Kramer's face ! 

' How daur you trv sic sportin, 
' As seek the foul Thief ony place, 

' For him to spae your fortune : 
1 Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! 

' Great cause ye hae to fear it; 

* For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 
■ An* liv'd an' di'd deleeret 

' On sic a night. 

XV. 

* Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 
' I mind 't as weel's yestreen, 

* I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 
' I was na past fyfteen : 

4 The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

* An' stuff was unco green ; 
' An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

* An' just on Halloween 

' It fell that night 

XVI. 

' Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

* A clever, sturdy fallow; 

* He's sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 
' That liv'd in Achmacalla : 

* He gat hemp-seed, * I mind it weel, 
' An' he made unco light o't; 

* Eut monie a day was by himsel, 

* He was sae sairly frighted 

* That vera night.' 

* Steal out unperceivedj and sow a handful of heme 
G 2 



96 BURNS' POEMS; 

XVII. 

Then up gat fechtiu Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; 

For it was a' but nonsense; 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd kim, 
An' try't that night. 

XVIII. 
He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls at his curpin : 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

' Hemp-seed I saw thee, 
' An' her that is to be my lass, 

' Come after me, and draw thee, 

' As fast this night,' 

XIX. 

He whistl'd up Lord Lenox' march. 

To keep his courage cheery; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae ney'd an' eerie : 



seed; harrowing it with any thing you can conve- 
niently draw after you. Repeat now and then, ' Hemp 
seed I saw thee, hemp seed I saw thee ; and him (or 
her) that is to be my true-love, come after me and pou 
thee.' Look over your left shoulder, and you will 
see the appearance of the person invoked, in the at- 
titude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, ' come 
' after me, and shaw thee,' that is, show thyself : in 
which case it simply appears. Others omit the har- 
rowing, and say, • come after me, and harrow thee*' 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 97 

Till presently he hears a squeak, 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Out-owre that night. 

XX. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation! 
An' young an' auld came rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop! she trotted thro them a'; 

An' wha was it but Grumphie 

Asteer that night ! 

XXI. 
Meg fain wad to the barn gaen 

To win three wechts o' naethtng ;* 
But for to meet the deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 

That vera night. 



* This charm must likewise be performed unper- 
ceived, and alone. You go to the barn, and open 
both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible ; 
for there is danger that the being, about to appear, 
may shut the doors, and do vou some mischief. Then 
take that instrumeut used in winnowing the corn, 
which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht; and go 
through all the attitudes of letting down corn against 
the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third 
time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at 
the windy door, and out at the other, having both the 



98 BURNS* POEMS; 

XXII. 
She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca* 

Syne bauidly in she enters ; 
A ration rattled up the wa', 

An' she cry'd L— d preserve her ! 
An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

XXIII. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack hefaddom'd thrice,' 

Was timmer propt for thrawin : 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, 

From some black, grousome carlin; 
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes came haurlin 

AfiPs nieves that night. 

XXIV. 
A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As canty as a kittlen ; 
But, Och ! that night, amang the shaws, 

She got a fearfu' settlin ! 



figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, 
marking the employment or station in life. 

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed to a 
Bearstack, and fathom it three times round. The 
last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your 
arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke- 
fellow. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 99 

She thro* the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn * 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 

XXV. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night* 

XXVI. 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 

Near lav'rock height she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 



* You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, 
to a south running spring or rivulet, where ' three 
lairds' lands meet,' and dip your left shirt sleeve. 
Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve 
before it to dry. Lie awake; and some time near 
midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the 
grand object in question, will come and turn the 
sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. 



100 BURNS' POEMS; 

XXVII. 
In or^er, on the cleau hearth-stane, 

The lugqies three* are ranged, 
And ev'ry time great care is ta'en, 

To see them duly changed: 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin Ma7*s-year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

XXVIII. 

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheery. 
Till butter 'd sons J wi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strung 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 



* Take three dishes; put clean water in one> 
foul water in another, leave the third empty : blind- 
fold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the 
dishes are ranged ; he (or she) dips the left hand : if 
by chance in the clean water, the future husband or 
wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid : if 
in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it fore- 
tels with equal certainty no marriage at all. It is 
repeated three times, and every time the arrangement 
of the dishes is altered. 

t Soweus, with butter instead of milk to them, is 
always the Halloween Supper. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 101 

THE AULD FARMER'S 
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION 

TO 

HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, 

On giving her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to 
hansel in the New Year, 



A GU1D New-Year I wish thee, Maggie! 
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
Tho' them's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

I've seen the day, 
Thou could hae^gaen like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, 

A bonny gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 
Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank^ 
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 
As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, 
Like onie bird. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid father's meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, 
An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was srna', twas weel-won gear, 
An' thou was stark. 
G 3 



102 BURNS' POEMS; 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 
An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride ; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, 

Tor sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
That day ye was a j inker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble, 

Far, far behin'. 

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, 
An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, 
An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 
For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 
Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 103 

But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 
An' gar't theui whaizle : 

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 
O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan', 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather. 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, 

Wi' pith and pow'r, 
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, 
An' slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer; 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it : 
Thou never lap, and sten't, aud breastit, 

Then stood to blaw; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't awa. 

Mypleugh is now thy bairn-time a': 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw: 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, 

The vera warst. 



104 BURNS' POEMS; 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 
Wi* something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starving 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane 
Laid by for you. 

"We've worn to crazy years thegither; 
"We'll toy te about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 
Wi' sma' fatigue. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 105 



TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH 
THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785. 



WEE, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin 5 an' chase thee, 

Wi' murdering pattlel 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which maks thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live !' 
A daimen icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
It's silly wa's the wins are strewin ! 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary winter comin fast, 



106 BURNS' POEMS ; 

An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell., 

Till crash ! the cruel coulter past 
Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an* stibble, 
Has' cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain: 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, 

Gang aft a-gly, 
An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! 
The present ouly toucheth thee : 
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e, 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 107 



A WINTER NIGHT. 



Poor naked wretches, wheresoever you are. 
That bide the pelting of this pityless storm! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loopd and window 'd raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these ? 



Shakespeare. 



WHEN bitiug Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 
"When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

List'uiug, the doors an* winnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O* winter war, 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle, 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy cluttering wing, 

An' close thy e'e? 



103 BURNS' POEMS; 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pity less the tempest wild 

Sore ou you beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive traiD, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole — 

"* Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! 
4 And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! 
' Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
' Not all your rage, as now united, shows 
' More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
' Vengeful malice unrepenting, 
* Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows ! 
' See stern oppression's iron grip, 
' Or mad ambition's gory hand, 

* Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

' Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ! 

* Ev r n in the peaceful rural vale, 

* Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
* How pamper'd luxury, flatt'ry by her side, 

' The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
. * With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
' Looks o'er proud property, extended wide; 

' And eyes the simple rustic hind, 

' Whose toil upholds the glitt'riug show, 

* A creature of another kind, 

* Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 

' Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below ; 

* Where, where is love's fond, tender throe, 

* With lordly honour's lofty brow, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 109 

'The pow'rs you proudly own ? 

* Is there, beneath love's noble name, 

* Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 
1 To bless himself alone ! 

* Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

1 To love-pretending snares, 
" This boasted honour turns away, 

* Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 

1 Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! 
1 Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest, 
' She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
1 And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking 
1 blast! 
r Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
' Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
' Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
' Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
1 Ill-satisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous call, 

' Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
' While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

* Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap ! 
' Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 

' Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ! 
' Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
' But shall thy legal rage pursue 

* The wretch, already crushed low 

' By cruel fortune's undeserved blow? 
; Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !' 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 

Thro' all his works abroad, 
The heart, benevolent and kind, 

The most resembles God. 



110 EURNS' POEMS; 

EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET.* 

January — 
I. 

WHILE winds frae aff Ben* Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse, or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely "westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift., 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 
That live sae bien an' snug : 
I tent less., and want less 

Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 

II. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r, 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't : 



* David Sillar, one of the club at Tarbolton, and 
author of a volume of poems in the Scottish dialect. 
E. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. Ill 

But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to -win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and fier : 
' Mair spier na, no fear na',* 
Auld age ne'er mind a leg, 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only for to beg. 

III. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

"When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a T 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However fortune kick the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile, 
And mind still, you'll find still 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

IV. 

What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods., 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound, 

To see the coming year : 



r Ramsay. 



112 BURNS' POEMS ; 

On braes when we please, theD, 
We'll sit an'sowth a tune; 

Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, 
And sing 't when we hae done. 

V. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest; 
It's no in makin muckle mair : 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest: 
"Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 
Could make us happy lang; 
The heart ay's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang. 

VI. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry,, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 
Baith careless, and fearless 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

VII. 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 113 

By pining at our state; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

Au's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

VIII. 
But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 

And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the -pleasures d 1 the heart, 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean! 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name ; 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

IX. 

O' all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love! 

Thou know'st my words sincere! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 

And solace to my breast. 



114 BURNS' POEMS; 

Thou Being, All-seeing, 
O hear my fervent pray'r ; 

Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

X. 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ; 
Long since, this -world's thorny ways 
Had number' d out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill; 
And ofc a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean. 

XI. 

O, bow that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phcebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 
An' rin an unco fit : 
But lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight now 
His sweaty wizen'd hide. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 115 



THE LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE 
ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. 

Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 
And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe! 

Home. 



THOU pale orb, that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep! 

With woe I nightly vigils keep, 
Beneath thy wan unwarming beam ; 

And mouru, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream . 

II. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 
The faintly-marked distant hill : 

I joyless view thy trembling horn, 
Reflected in the gurgling rill : 

My fondly-fluttering heart, be still! 
Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease! 

Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 
For ever bar returning peace \± 

III. 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim J 

No shepherd's pipe — Arcadiau strains; 
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame; 



116 BURNS' POEMS; 

The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested pow'rs above : 
The promts' d Father's tender name : 

These were the pledges of my. love i 

IV. 
Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown ! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone! 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast? 
And does she heedless hear my groan? 

And is she ever, ever lost? 

V. 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will sooth, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 

VI. 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'h ev'ry ray of hope destroy 'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

VII. 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 
Awakes me up to toil aud woe : 

I see the hours in long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 117 

Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

VIII. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-harass'd out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief 

Reigns haggard-wild., in sore affright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

IX. 
O ! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse, 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver- gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual kindling eye, 



Ob ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro': 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



118 BURNS' POEMS; 



DESPONDENCY, 



AN ODE. 

I. 

OPPP^ESS'D with grief, oppressed with care, 
A burden more than T can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh : 
O life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view, 

What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro% 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 

My woes here shall close ne'er, 

But with the closing tomb f 

IT. 

Happy, ye sous of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end ? s deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless morn the same, 
You, bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain; 
I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 119 

III. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to heav'n on high, 
As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemu sky. 

IV. 

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art: 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys, 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not,' he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here, must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate! 

V. 

Oh ! enviable," early days, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
H 2 



ISO BURNS' POEMS; 

Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim-declining age! 



WINTER. 

A DIRGE. 



I. 

THE wintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
"While tumbling brown, the bourn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest 

And pass the heartless day. 

II. 

tf The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"* 

The joyless winter-day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it sooths my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! » 



* Dr. Young. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

III. 
Thou Pozv'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy Will ! 
Then all I want (O, do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny,. 

Assist me to resign. 



THE 

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESQ. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short but simple annals of the poor. 

Gray. 

I. 

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end ; 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 

What A**** in a cottage would have been; 
Ah! tho* his worth unknown, far happier there* I 



m BURNS' POEMS ; 

II. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 

The short'iung winter-day is near a close; 

- The miry beasts retreating Irae the pleugh; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward 
bend. 

III. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectaut wee-things, toddlin, stacher thro' 

To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wife's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 

IV. 

Bely ve the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

V. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 
An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 

The social hours, swift-wing' d, unnotic'd fleet; 
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 123 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

VI. 

Their master's an* their mistress's command, 
The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 

* An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

' An' ne-er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play : 

* An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

' An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! 
' Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 
' Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
* They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord 
1 aright !' 

VII. 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; 
With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worth- 
less rake. 

VIII. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth j he taks the mother's eye ; 
Bly the Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 

But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the 
lave. 



tte BURNS' POEMS; 

IX. 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

* One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
' 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

' In others arms breathe out the tender tale, " 
' Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'n- 
' ing gale.' 

X. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain! lost to love and truth! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction 
wild! 

XL 
But now the supper crowns their simple board r 

The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the belL 

XII. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 

The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 
The big nd -bible, auce his father's pride ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 125 

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And * Let us worship God !' he says, with solemn air. 

XIII. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name : 
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

XIV. 
The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the friend of God on high; 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

"With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

XV. 
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 
How his first followers aud servants sped; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: 
How He, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand : 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by 
Heav'n's command. 
H 3 



125 E URNS' POEMS; 

XVI. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays; 
Hope ' springs exulting on triumphant wing/* 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's, praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear; 
"While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

XVII. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! 
The Pozc'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous straiu, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart, 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul ; 
And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

XVIII. 
Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest: 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to heaven the warm request 
That He who stills the ravens clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace dhi?ie preside. 



* Pope's Windsor Forest. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 127 

XIX. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

' An honest man 's the noblest work of God:' 
And certes in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ! a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! 

XX. 

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 
And, O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 

XXI. 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart; 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert : 

But still the patriot and the patriot bard. 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 



328 BURNS' POEMS; 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, 



A DIRGE. 



WHEN chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years> 

And hoary was his hair. 

II. 

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou? 

Uegan the rev'rend sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ; 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of man! 

III. 
The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 129 



IV. 

O man! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mispending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn; 
Which tenfold force gives nature's law, 

That man was made to mourn. 

V. 
Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right : 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, Oh ! ill-match'd pair \ 

Show man was made to mourn. 

VI. 

A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not ail the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crouds in ev'ry land, 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 

VII. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn! 



10 BURNS' POEMS; 

VIII. 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm, 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tno' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

IX. 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave,— 

By nature's law design'd, 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn? 

X. 

Yet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn !. 

XI. 

O death! the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn; 
But, Oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF 
DEATH. 

I. 

O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

II. 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun; 
As something, loudly, in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done; 

III. 

Thou know'st that thou hast formed me 

With passions wild and strong; 
And list'ning to their witching voice 

Has often led me wrong. 

IV. 

"Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All-Good! for such thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

V. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But Thou art good; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



132 BURNS' POEMS; 

STANZAS 
ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between: 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms: 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin- avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, * Forgive my foul offence!' 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way; 
.Again in folly's path might go astray : 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray., 

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan ? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation rae. 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong furious passions to confine; 
For all unfit T feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line; 
O, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 135 

LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE 
ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT 

THE FOLLOWING VERSES 

IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 

I. 
O THOU dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ! 

I know thou wilt me hear : 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

II. 

The hoary sire— the mortal stroke, 

Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ! 
To bless his little filial flock, 

And show what good men ar.e- 

III. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
0, bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

IV. 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish ! 

V. 

The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide thou their steps alway ! 



131 BURNS' POEMS; 



VI. 

When soon or late they reach that coast. 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in Heav'n ! 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

THE man, in life -wherever plac'd, ' 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets growj 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 135 



A PRAYER, 

UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT 
ANGUISH. 

O THOU Great Being ! what thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to thee 

Are all thy works below. 

Thy creature here before thee stands, 

All wretched and distrest; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 

Sure thou, Almighty, can'st not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves 

To bear and not repine ! 



136 BURNS* POEMS j 

THE 

FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE 
NINETIETH PSALM. 

O THOU, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself, 

Arose at thy command ; 

Thafpow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
Prom countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 

Appear no more before thy sight 

Thau yesterday that 's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man,. 

Is to existence brought : 
Again thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men, 

' Return ye into nought !' 

Thou layest them, with all their cares,. 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r, 

In beauty's pride array'd; 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All wither'd and decay'd. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 137 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE 
PLOUGH, IN APRIL 1?86. 

WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem ; 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie Lark, companion meet! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! 

Wi' spreckled breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble, birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted fortji 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, 
But thou beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread, 



i BURNS' POEMS ; 

Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 

But now the share uptears thy bed, 
And low thou lies! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet flovfret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 
Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driv'n, 
To mis'ry's brink, 
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 
He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date; 
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 
Shall be thy doom ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



TO RUIN. 



I. 

ALL hail ! inexorable lord! 

At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers o f grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart; 
For one has cut my dearest tie. 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'ring, and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning, 
Round my devoted head* 

II. 

And, thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day; 
My weary heart its throbbing cease, 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face ; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace '. 



BURNS' POEMS ; 



TO MISS L— 9 

WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS AS A NEW YEAR'S 
GIFT, JANUARY 1, 1737. 



AGATN the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n, 

And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, 
Are so much nearer Heav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charged, perhaps, too true; 

But mav, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to you .' 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 141 

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

MAY 1786. 

I. 

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

II. 

Ye '11 try the world soon, my lad, 

And, Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye '11 find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

III. 

I'll no say, men are villains a* ; 

The real, harden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 
But, och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake. 

Its rarely right adjusted ! 



2 BURNS' POEMS; 

IV. 
Tet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life, 

They equally may answer; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly scare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

V. 

Ay free, aff han' your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen' d sly inspection. 

VI. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love^ 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it : 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard of concealing ; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling 1 

VII. 
To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her : 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That 's justified by honour ; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

VIII. 

The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip 
To haud the wretch in order; 

But where ye feel your honour grip, 
Let that ay be your border ; 

Its slightest touches, instant pause- 
Debar a' side pretences; 

And resolutely keep its laws, 
Uncaring consequences. 

IX. 
The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature; 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended! 

X. 

When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded; 
Or if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n, 

Is sure a noble anchor! 

XI. 
Adieu, dear amiable youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting : 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, ' God send you speed/ 

Still daily to grow wiser : 
And may you better reck the rede, 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 
I % 



BURNS' POEMS; 

ON A SCOTCH BARD, 

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' YE wha live by soups o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think, 

Come mourn wi' me! 
Our billic 's gien us a' a jink, 

An* owre the sea. 

Lament him a' ye rantin core, 
Wha dearly like a raudom-splore, 
Nae mair he '11 join the merry roar, 

In social key ; 
For now he 's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the sea. 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him : 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi' tearfu' e'e; 
For weel I wat. they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea. 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bumrrde, 
Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea; 
But he was gleg as ony wumble, 

That's owre the sea. 

Auid, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
An' staiu them wi' the saut, saut tear; 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart I fear, 

In flinders flee ; 
He was her laureate monie a year, 

That's owre the sea. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a birth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock, 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ; 

He dealt it free : 
The muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That 's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
An' hap him in a cozie biel : 
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, 

And fou' o' glee ; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, 

That 's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie / 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the sea. 



146 BURNS' POEMS; 



TO A HAGGIS. 



FAIR fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race? 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm: 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang 's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labour dight, 
An' cut you up with ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 
Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums , 
Then auld guidman, maist like to ryve, 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ? 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 14T 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash* 
As feckless as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank a guid whip lash, 

His nieve a nit; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling earth resounds his tread, 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wauts nae skinking ware 
That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 
Gieher a Haggis! 



A DEDICATION 

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ, 

EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechiu, fleth'rin dedication, 
To roose you up, an' ca' you guid. 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're surnam'd like his grace, 
Perhaps related to the race; 
Then when I'm tir'd— and sae are ye, 
Wi' mouy a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 



5 BURNS' POEMS; 

This may do— maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou ; 
For me! sae laigh I needna bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Theu, Lord be thankit, I can beg; 
Sae I shall say, an' that 's nae fiatt'rin, 
It's just sic pott, an' sic patron. 

The Poet, some guid augel help liim, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him, 
He may do weel for a' he 's done yet, 
But only he 's no just begun yet. 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me) 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just— nae better than he should be, 

I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want; 
What 's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What ance he says he winna break it; 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd : 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang^ 
Ev'n thaty he does na mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; 
3f ae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naething but a milder feature, 
Of our poor, sinfu' corrupt nature : 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That he 's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 14Q 

It's no thro* terror of d-mn-tion ; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No— stretch a point to catch a plack; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a winnock frae a wh-re, 
But point the rake that taks the door: 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane, 
And haud their noses to the grunstane ; 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang wry faces; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-n, 
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror! 
"When vengeance draws the sword in wrath, « 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
"When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him : 
"While o'er the harp pale mis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'uing tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! % 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 
I 3 



* 



150 BURNS' POEMS; 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them, Sir, to You: 
Because (ye need na tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronise them wi' your favour, 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist said., ever pray, 
But that's a word I need na say : 
For prayin I hae little skill o't; 
I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r, 
That kens or hears about you, Sir — 

* May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark, 

* Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 
' May ne'er his geu'rous, honest heart, 

' For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
' May K******'s far honour'd name 
' Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 

* Till H*******'s, at least a dizen, 

' Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
' Five bonnie lasses round their table, 
' And seven braw fellows, stout an' able 
' To serve their king and country weel, 

* By word, or peu, or pointed steel ! 

1 May health and peace, with mutual rays, 

* Shine on the evening o' his days ; 

* Till his wee curlie John's ier-oe, 

' When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
' The last, sad, mournful rites bestow !' 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Tour much indebted, humble servant. 



} 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 151 

But if (which Pow'rs above prevent!) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
"While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more; 
.For who would humbly serve the poor ! /• 
But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n! 
While recollection's pow'r is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognize my master dear, 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, Sir, your hand— my friend and brother! 



TO A LOUSE. 

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET 
AT CHURCH. 



HA ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie ! 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace; 
Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an* sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, 

On some poor body. 



15* BURNS' POEMS; 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 
Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 

Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight; 
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height, 
O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump aud gray as onie grozet; 
O for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ? 

I wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On 's wyliecoat; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie, 

How dare ye do't ! 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An* set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin ! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see tis!. 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 

And ev'n Devotion ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 



I. 

EDINA ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat legislation's sov' reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray' d, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

II. 
Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy trade his labours plies ; 
There architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks science in her coy abode. 

III. 

Thy Sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

IV. 
Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn ! 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 



t BURNS' POEMS; 

Fair B strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine 

I see the sire of love on high, 
And own his work indeed divine ! 

V. 

There, watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar ; 
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; 
Have oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft repell'd the invader's shock. 

VI. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitving tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royai home : 
Alas ! how chang'd the times to come ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ? 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just! 

VII. 

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps, 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply my sires have left their shed,, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your fathers led J 

VIII. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat legislation's sov'reign poVrs S 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 

And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 
I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 



EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 
April 1st, 1785. 

WHILE briers and woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie whiddin seen, 

Inspire my muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On fasten-een we had a rockin, 
To ca' the crack and -weave our stockin; 
And there was muckle fun an' jokin, 
Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokin 
At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard ought describes sae wee!, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 



156 BURNS' POEMS ; 

Thought I, ' Can this be Pope, or Steele, 
' Or Beattie's wark !' 

They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel 
About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear 't, 
And sae about him there I spier't, 
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd 

He had ingine, 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint of ale, 
An' either douce or merry tale, 
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 
Or die a cadger pownie's death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am na poet, in a sense, 
But just a rhymer, like, by chance, 
An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter ? 
Whene'er my muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 157 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, ' How can you e'er propose, 
' You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

' To mak a sang ?' 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're may be wrang. 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

What sairs your grammars ? 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 
That's a' the learning I desire; 
Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My muse, tho' hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

O for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 
Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright LapraiWs my friend to be, 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear eneugh for me, 

If I could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that 's true, 

I'm on your list. 



15£ BURNS' POEMS; 

I winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 
But friends, and folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose me, 
Tho' I maun own, as monie still 
As far abuse me. 

There's ae toeefaut they whyles lay to me, 
I like the lasses— Gude forgie me ! 
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me 

At dance or fair ; 
May be some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin-ware 
Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 
An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa, ye selfish warly race, 
Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, 
Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

' Each aid the others !' 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

But, to conclude my lang epistle, 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing, or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



TO THE SAME. 



April 2Lst, 1785. 

WHILE new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 

Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 
Raltlin the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten hours bite, 
My awkart muse sair pleads and begs, 
I would na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, ' Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 
' This month an' mair, 
* That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 
* An' something sair.' 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad; 
* Conscience,' says I, ' ye thowless jad! 



160 BURNS' POEMS; 

' I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 
' This vera night; 
' So dinna ye affront your trade, 

* Eut rhyme it right. 

' Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
1 Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
' Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

* In terms sae friendly, 
* Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

' An' thank him kindly !* 

Sae I gat paper in a blink, 

l An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 

Quoth I, * Before I sleep a wink, 

' I vow I'll close it ; 
1 An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

* By Jove I'll prose it!' 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 
Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how fortune uaft an' •warp .* 

She 's but a b-tch. 

She 's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, 
As lang 's I dow ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 3& 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year j 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 
Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame, 
In some bit brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane., 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 
"While caps and bonnets aff are taen, 

As by he walks ? 

1 O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 

* Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, 

* Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

' Thro' Scotland wide ; 

* Wi' cits nor lairds I- wadna shift, 

'. In a' their pride V 

Were this the charter of our state, 
' On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heav'n ! that's no the gate 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 



162 BURNS' POEMS; 

' The social, friendly, honest man, 
1 Whate'er he be, 

€ 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 
* An' none but he f 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils .' yet may shine 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. J 63 

TO W. S*****N, 

OCHILTREE. 

May, 1785. 

I GAT your letter, -winsome Willie; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie, 

Your flatt'rin strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 
I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfteld, 

The braes o' fame; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 
111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 
Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o' -what ye waste at cartes, 

Wad stow'd his pantry !} 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 



164 BURNS' POEMS; 

As wbyles they're like to be my deed, 
(O sad disease !) 

I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, 
She's gotten Poets o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd style; 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 

Beside New-Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 

Th' IUissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine. 

An' cock your crest, 
"We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, 
Her banks an' braes, her dens and dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 165 

At Wallace 1 name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace 1 side. 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 
Their loves enjoy. 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 
With wailfu' cry! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day! 

O Nature! a' thy shews an' forms 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an* light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night! 

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang ! 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The warly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an' strive, 



166 BURNS' POEMS; 

Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 

Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, ■ my rhyme-composing brither !' 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal! 

"While highlandmcn hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies : 
While terra firma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count ou a friend, in faith an' practice. 

In Robert Burns. 



POSTSCRIPT. 



My memory's no worth a preen j 
I had amaist forgotten clean, 
Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this New-Light* 
'Bout which our hei^ds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were butcallans 
At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, 



See note, p, 51. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 167 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans, 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
Till duels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang ; 
An' muckle din the're was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An' out o' sight, 
An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirm' d ; 
The herds an' hissels were alarm'd : 
The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' stormM, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ; 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt; 
An' some,, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt, v* 
K2 



lo3 BURNS' POEMS ; 

This game was play'd in raonie lands, 
An' auld-light caddies bure sic hands, 
That faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
The lairds forbade, by strict commands, 
Sic bluidy pranks. 

But new-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe, 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe, 

Ye'll find ane plac'd ; 
An* some, their new-light fair avow, 
Just quite barefac'd. 

!Nae doubt the auld-light Jlocks are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind 't, in things they ca' balloons, 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay a month amang the moons 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them; 
An' when the auld moon 's gaun to lea'e them, 
The hindmost shaird, they '11 fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the new-light billies see them, 
I tliink they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naethmg but a * moonshine matter ;' 
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 169 

EPISTLE TO J.R******, 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 



O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted R******, 
The wale o' cocks for fun and drinkin ! 
There's mony godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams* an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-lfke, a-sinkin^ 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants,, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it! 
Spare 't for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in black! 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 
Rives 't aff their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, 
Its just the blue-gown badge an' claithing 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething 

To ken them by, 
Trae ony unregenerate heathen 
Like you or I. 



* A certain humorous dream of his was then mak- 
ing a noise in the country-side. 



170 BURNS' POEMS; 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang,* ye'll sen't wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My muse dow scarcely spread her wing 1 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring, 

An' danc'd my fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair'd the king, 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately in my fun, 
I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 
An' brought apaitrick to the grun, 

A bonnie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt; 
I straikit it a wee for sport, 
Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for r t ; 

But, deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 
The hale affair. 

Some auld us'd hands had ta'en a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot; 
I was suspected for the plot; 

I scorn'd to lie , 
So gat the whissle o' my groat, 

An' pay't the fee. 



* A song he bad promised the Author. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 171 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 
An' by my lien, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear! 
The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale, 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry, 
L— d, I'se hae sportin by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea : 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 

For 't in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame 1 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! 

It pits me ay as mad 's a hare; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; 
But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time 's expedient : 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

w Your most obedient. 



2 BURNS' POEMS; 

JOHN BARLEYCORN* 

A BALLAD, 

I. 
THERE was three kings into the east, 

Three kings both great and high, 
An' they ha' sworn a solemn oath, 

John Barleycorn should die. 

II. 

They took a plough and plough'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

III. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

And show'rs began to fall ; 
Johu Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 

IV. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 

And he grew thick and strong, 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 

That no one should him wrong. 

V. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 

"When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 



* This is partly composed on the plan of an old song 
known by the same name. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 173 

VI. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To shew their deadly rage. 

VIL 

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp. 

And cut himbv the knee; 
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

VIII. 

They laid him down upon his back, 

And cudgell'd him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm, 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

IX. 
They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

X. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe, 
And still, as signs of life appear'd, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

XI. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all, 

For he crush'dhim between two stones. 



K 3 



174 BURNS' POEMS; 

XII. 

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

XIII. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise, 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

XIV. 
'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

XV. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 175 

A FRAGMENT. 

Tune, 'GILLICRANKIE.' 



I. 

WHEN Guilford good our pilot stood, 

And did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 

And in the sea did jaw, man; 
An' did nae less, in full congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

II. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

III. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 

Was kept at Boston ha?, man ; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man: 
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid christian blood to draw, man; 
But at New-York, wi' knife an' fork, 

Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. 



176 BURNS' POEMS; 

IV. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an* whip, 

Till Fraser brave did fa ; , man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
CornwaUis fought as lang 's he dought, 

An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

V. 
Then Montague, an' Guildford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. 

VI. 

Then Rockingham took up the game y 

Till death did on him ca', man ; 
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek. 

Conform to gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 

They did his measures thraw, man, 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

VII. 
Then clubs an* hearts were Charlie's cartes, 
He swept the-^5takes awa', man, 
. Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, 
Led him a sair faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 

An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

■ Up, Willie, waur them a', man!' 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ITT 

VIII. 

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired bardies saw, man) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, '■ Willie, rise! 

* Would I hae fear'd them a', maa?' 

IX. 
But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co*. 

GowfFd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood 

To make it guid in law, man. 



SONG. 



Tune, ' Corn rigs are bonnie.' 

T. 

IT was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early; 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me thro' the barley. 



ir8 BURNS' POEMS; 

II. 

The sky was blue, the -wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a* my ain; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

III. 
I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely: 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She ay shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

IV. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear; 

I hae been happy thinkin : 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a% 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

CHORUS. 

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, 
An' corn rigs are bonnie : 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs zvi' Annie. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 17y 

SONG, 

COMPOSED IN AUGUST. 
Tune, ' I had a horse, I had nae mair.' 



NOW westling winds, and slaughtering guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather: 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

.Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when T rove at night, 

To muse upon my charmer. 

II. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells; 

The plover loves the mountains; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

III. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender; 
Some social join, and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander: 
Avaun-t, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 

The flutt'ring, gory pinion ! 



) BURKS' POEMS; 

IV. 
But Peggy dear, the ev'uing 's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming shallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And every happy creature. 

V. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



SONG. 

Tune, ' My Nannie, O*' 

I. 

BEHIND yon hills where Lugar* flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

* Originally, Stinchar. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 181 



II. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill ; 

The night 's baith mirk and rainy, O ; 
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, 

An* owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

III. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' youngs 
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 

May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 

IV. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O : 

The op'ning go wan, wet wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

V. 

A country lad is my degree, 
An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. 

VI. 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0„ 

VII. 
Our auld Guidman delights to view 

His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, 

An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 



182 BURNS' POEMS; 

VIII. 
Come weel, come woe. I care na by, 
. I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, ; 
Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

A FRAGMENT. 

CHORUS. 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 

Green grow the rashes, ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er 1 spent, 

Are spent amang the lasses, O / 

I. 
THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han', 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c. 

II. 
The warly race may riches chase, 

An' riches still may fly them, O; 
An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 

Green grow, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 183 

III. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, O ; 
An' warly cares, an warly men, 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 

Green grow, &c. 

IV. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O r 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c. 

V. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 

Her noblest work she classes, O : 
Her 'prentice han' she try'd on man, 

An' then she made the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c. 



ISi BURNS' POEMS; 



SONG. 



Tune * Jockey's Grey Breeks.' 

I. 
AGAIN rejoicing nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 

All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CHORUS* 

And maun I still on Meniei do at, 
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? 

For if s jet, jet black, art it's like a hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

II. 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 

And maun I still, &c. 

III. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 

But life to me 's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 

And maun I still, &e. 



* This chorus is part of a song composed by a 
gentleman in Edinburgh, a particular friend of the 
author's. 

t Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamne. 



CHTEFLY SCOTTISH. 185 

IV. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And every thing is blest but I. 

And nttiun I still, &c. 



The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, 
And owre the moorlands whistles shill, 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And maun I still, &c. 

VI. 
And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 
And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A wee-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 

And maun I still, &c. 

VII. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree; 

Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless soul, 
When nature all is sad like me ! 

CHORUS. 

And maun 1 still on Menie doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in her e J e ? 

For its jet, jet black, an' its like a hawk, 
Art it winna let a body be.* 



* We cannot presume to alter any of the poems of 
our bard, and more especially those printed under 
his own direction ; yet it is to be regretted that this 
chorus, which is not of his own composition, should 
be attached to these fine stanzas, as it perpetually in- 
terrupts the train of sentiment which they excite. E. 



BURNS' POEMS; 

SONG. 

Tune, ( Roslin Castle.' 



THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driviug o'er the plain; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

II. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Aeross her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

III. 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear: 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

IV. 

Farewell, old Coild's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 187 

The scenes where -wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those — 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell the bonnie banks of Apr, 



SONG. 

Tune,' Gilderoy.' 

U 

FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar: 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ; 

II. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



138 BURNS' POEMS; 



THE 

FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN 
OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, ^ 

TARBOLTON. 

Tune, ' Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!' 

I. 

ADIEU ! a heart-warm fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tye ! 
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten' d few, 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lauds must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba% 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 

IT. 

Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night : 
Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

III. 



May freedom, harmony, and love, 
Unite you in the grand design, 

Beneath th' omniscient eye above, 
The glorious architect divine ! 



■ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 180 

That you may keep th' unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa\ 

IV. 

And you farewell ! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honour'd., noble name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a*, 
One round, I ask it with a tear, 

To him, the Bard that's far awa\ 



SONG. 



Tune, ' Prepare, my dear brethren, to the Tavern 

' let 's fly.' 

I. 

NO churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-belly'd bottle 's the whole of my care, 

II. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 

I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low; 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,,. 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

III. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
There centum per centum, the crt with his purser 



190 BURNS' POEMS; 

But see you the crown how it waves in the air, 
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. 

IV. 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-belly 'd bottle 's a cure for all care. 

m 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; — 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

VI. 

' Life's cares they are comforts,'*— a maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black 

gown ; 
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair; 
For a big-belly'd bottle 's a heav'n of care. 

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge. 
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
Alay every true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care ! 



* Young's Night Thoughts. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1Q1 



WRITTEN IN 

FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, 

ON NITH-SIDE. 

THOU whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Tear not clouds will always lower. 

As youth and love with sprightly dance, 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her siren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian naming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While cheerful peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

L % 



19« BURNS' POEMS; 

As the shades of evVmg close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought , 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say,, Man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate, 
Is not. Art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base. 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep; 
Sleep, whence thou shall ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till future life, future no more, • ' 

To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide! 
Quod the beadsman of Nith-side, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 193 

i 

ODE, 

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF 
MRS. OF — -. 



DWELLER in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow- weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonoured years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse! 

STROPHE. 
View the wither'd beldam's face — 1 

Can thy keen inspection trace j 

Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace ? -) 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 
Hands that took— but never gave. 
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest' 
She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest ! J 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Pluuderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends,) 
Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends ? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 
She, tardy; hell-ward plies, 



1Q4 BURNS' POEMS; 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a year? 
In other worlds cau Mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he is here? 
O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience cl< 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n 






ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW 
HENDERSON, 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT 
FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM 
ALMIGHTY GOD ! 



But now his radiant course is run, 
For Matthew's course was bright ; 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless, Heav'nly Light! 

O DEATH ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 

The meikie devil wi' a woo die 

Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He 's gane, he 's gane ! he 's frae us torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1Q$ 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where echo slumbers! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn little harebells o'er the lee ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs : 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, 

V th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a dud; 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever \ 



19$ BURNS' POEMS; 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 
Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 
Hair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 
Wham we deplore, 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glowr, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 
Till waukrife morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 
But tales of woe; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 
Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year* 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that 's dead I 

Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air 
The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we 've lost I 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1§7 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn I 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
Aud art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 

The world around ! 

Go to your sculptured tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate. 
E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 



STOP, passenger ! my story's brief; 

And truth I shall relate, man j 
I tell nae common tale o' grief, 

For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 
Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast, 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

L 3 



W BURNS' POEMS; 

If thoa a noble sodger art, 
That passest by this grave, man, 

Xtiere moulders here a gallant heart, 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommou light, man; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca* 
Wad life itself resign, man; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', 
For Matthew was a kind man ! 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man; 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain, 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man; 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If orsy whiggish whingin sot, 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man; 

May dool and sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 199 

LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF 
SCOTS, 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 



NOW Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn. 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis mild wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest: 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae; 
The hawthorn 's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae ; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been; 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en: 



200 BURNS' POEMS; 

And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

3VJy son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 

Remember him for me ! 

O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

"Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring- 

Bloom on my peaceful grave I 



A 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 20i 

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., 

OF FINTRA. 



ATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, 

bout to beg a pass for ieave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest :) 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's Vail ? 
(It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the light he first survey'd,- 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade? 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; 
Of thy caprice maternal T complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. — 
Thy minions, kings defend, control, devour, 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. — 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug. 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, feuceless, naked child -the Bard! 
A thing unteachable in world's skill, 
And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas! not Amalthea's horn: 



202 BURKS' POEMS; 

No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cnr, 
Clad in rich dulness' comfortable fur, 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics— appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame: 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes; 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads' daring into madness stung; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear : 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in the unequal strife, 
The hapless poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fiVd, 
And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd, 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, 
Dead, even resentment, for his iujur'd page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! 



.,] 



So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceas'd, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast ; 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone. 
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

O dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm sheltered haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up: 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder ' some folks' do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, • 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 203 

When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that ' fools are fortune's care.* 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

a, Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain; 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd at noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
O! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r! 
Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life ; and sooth his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death 



■ } 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF 
GLENCAIRN. 



THE wind blew hollow frae the hills, 
By fits the sun's departing beam 

Look'd on the fading yellow woods 
That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream; 



04 BURNS' POEMS; 

Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
Tn loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

"Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years ; 
His locks were bleached white wi' time! 

His hoary cheek was wet wi* tears ! 
And as he touch' d his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

** Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

" The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
" Ye woods that shed ou a' the winds 

" The honours of the aged year ! 
" A few short months, and glad and gay, 

" Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
" But nocht in all revolving time 

*' Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

" That long has stood the wind and rain? 
** But now has come a cruel blast, 

" And my last hald of earth is gane : 
u Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

u Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
(i But I maun lie before the storm, 

" And ithers plant them in my room, 

" I've seen sae mony changefu' years, 

" On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
41 I wander in the ways of men, 

" Alike unknowing and unknown : 
*' Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 

" I bear alane my lade o' care, 
<l For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

u Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 205 

* And last (the sun of a' my griefs !) 

" My noble master lies in clay ; 
*' The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

H His country's pride, his country's stay : 
" In weary being now I pine, 

" For a' the life of life is dead, 
*' And hope has left my aged ken, 

" On forward wing for ever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

" The voice of woe and wild despair! 
** Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

" Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
" And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

41 That fillest an untimely tomb, 
u Accept this tribute from the bard 

** Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom, 

" In poverty's low barren vale, 

° Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round; 
" Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

" Kae ray of fame was to be found : 
" Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 

" That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
" The friendless bard and rustic song, 

" Became alike thy fostering care. 

" O \ why has worth so short a date? 
• " While villains ripen grey with time ! 
" Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

" Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
" Why did I live to see that day ? 

" A day to me so full of woe! 
" O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

" Which laid my benefactor low ! 

" The bridegroom may forget the bride 
" Was made his wedded wife yestreen; 

" The monarch may forget the crown 
u That on his head an hour has been; 



206 BURNS' POEMS; 

u The mother may forget the child 
" That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 

" But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 
" And a' that thou hast done for me !" 



LINES 
SENT TO SIR JOHN IVHITEFOORD, 

OF WHITEFOORD, BART., 

WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. 

THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, 
To thee this votive offering I impart, ' • 

The tearful tribute of a bioken heart. 
The friend thou valued'st, I the patron lov'd ; 
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world un- 
known. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 207 



TAM O' SHANTER, 



A TALE. 

Of Brozcnyis and of Bogilisfull is this Buke* 
Gawin Douglas. 



WHEN chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet* 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' gettin fou and unco happy, 
Wf relink na on the lang Scots' miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn o' Shante?\ 
As he frae Ayr, ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr whom ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 

O Tarn! had'st thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was nae sober, 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 



208 BURKS' POEMS; 

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on, 
That at the L — d's house, ev'n on^Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesy'd, that late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Dodn; 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk^ 
By Altoway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthen'd sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tarn had got planted uuco right; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; 
And at his elbow, souter Johnny j 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious ; 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious: 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : | 

The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the fiow'r, its bloom is shed ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. £09 

Or like the snow-falls in the river, 

A moment white — then melts for ever ; 

Or like thedborealis race, 

That flit ere you can point their place; 

Or like the rainbow's lovely form 

Evanishing amid the storm. — 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 

The hour approaches Tarn maun ride; 

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 

And sic a night he taks the road in, 

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg t 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
"Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ° 3 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters faud the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel, — 



210 BURNS' POEMS; 

Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
"When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand adrnonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light; 
Aud, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A winnock-bunker in the east, 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gie them music was his charge: 
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; 
And by some devilish cantrip slight, 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
By which heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ! 
Twa span-laog, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp bis gab did gape ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 211 

Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted; 
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
"Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
"Which ev'n to name wad be uniawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tarn, O Tarn! had they been queans 
A' plump and strapping, in their teens ; 
Their saiks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen ! 
Thir breekso' mine, my ovAy pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid bJue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them v off my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll., 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an' flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie, 
There was ae winsome wench and waiie, 
That night inlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, 



212 BURNS' POEMS; 

And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear), 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley barn, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In loigitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.— » 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour; 
Sic nights are far beyond her pow'r; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was and Strang) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very een enrich'd; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main ; 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark !" 
And in an instant all was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke. 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd. 
When, " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; 
So Maggieruns, the witches follow, 
Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn! ah, Tarn! thou'll get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrinl 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman I 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 213 

Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane * of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tarn wf furious ettle; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail: 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye maj buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tarn o y Shanter's mare. 



* It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil 
spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any 
farther than the middle of the next running stream. 
, — It may be proper likewise to mention to the be- 
nighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, 
whatever danger may be in his going forward, ther* 
is much more hazard in turning back. 



2U BURNS' POEMS; 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE 
LIMP BY ME, 

WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 



INHUMAN man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-airniug eye : 
May never pity sooth thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 

The bitter little that of life remains : 

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains, 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless 
fate. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. £15 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF 
THOMSON. 

DN CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROX- 
BURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 



WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
Unfolds her tender mantle green, 

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 
Or tunes Eolian strains between : 

While Summer with a matron grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 

So long, sweet Poet of the year, 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won j 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



M2 



216 BURNS' POEMS; 



EPITAPHS, 



ON A CELEBRATED RULING 
ELDER. 



HEUE souter * * * * in death does sleep; 

To h-11, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He '11 haud it weel thegither. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC 



Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : 

O death, it 's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin b-tcU, 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 217 

ON WEE JOHNNY. 

Hie jacet wee Johnnie. 

WHOE'ER thou art, O reader, know, 

That death has murder'd Johnnie ! 
An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 



O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 

Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend ! 
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 

The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 
The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."* 



* Goldsmith. 



213 BURNS' POEMS; 



FOR R. A. ESQ. 



KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



FOR C. H. ESQ. 



THE poor man weeps — here G n sleeps, 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as he, where'er he be, 
May I be sav'd or damrCd! 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 



Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule. 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to sncol, 

Let him draw near; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ZVj 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause— and, thro' the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 
And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame. 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader, attend— whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit; 
Kuow, prudent, cautious, self-control, 

Is wisdom's root. 



220 BURNS' POEMS ,- 



ON THE LATE 

CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINA- 
TIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND. 

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT 
KINGDOM. 

HEAR, Laud o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's; 
If there 's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it: 
A chield's amang you taking notes, 

And, faith, he '11 prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That 's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,* 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 
It 's ten to aue ye '11 find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' deils, they say, L— d save 's ! colieaguin 
At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, 
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, 



* Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 221 

And you deep read in hell's black grammar, 
Warlocks and witches; 

Ye '11 quake at his conjuring hammer, 
Ye midnight I 



It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
Eut now he's quat the spurtle blade, 

And dog-skin-wallet, 
And ta'en the— Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,* 
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, 

A towmont guid ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 
Before the Flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he '11 shape you aff, fu' gleg, 
The cut *of Adam's philibeg; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He '11 prove you fully., 
It was a faudling jocteleg, 

Or lang-kail gullie. — 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee ai)d fun has he, 



* Vide his Treatise on Ancient Armour and W< 
pons. 

M 3 



222 BURNS' POEMS ; 

Then set him down, and twa or three 
Guid fellows wi' him ; 

And port, Oport! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye '11 see him ? 

Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose !— 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee f 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS, 

A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A EOOK 
PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 



BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 

Chilly shrink in sleety show'r! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights ' 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still witb dew ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 8S3 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Hichly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
"While all around the woodland rings, 
And ev'ry bird _thy requiem sings; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



SONG. 



ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, 
And waste my soul with care; 

But, ah! how bootless to admire, 
When fated to despair ! 

Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair, 
To hope may be forgiv'n ; 

For sure 'twere impious to despair ! 
So much in sight of Heav'n. 



S54 BURNS' POEMS; 



ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, 

THE DEATH OF JOHN M<LEOD, 
ESQ. 

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTI- 
CULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. 



SAD thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt -with pearly dew 
The morning rose may blow ; 

But cold successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguiPd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was form'd, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone; 

Can heal the wound he gave; 
Can point the brimful grief- worn eyes 

To scenes beyond the grave. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 225 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 

And fear no withering blast : 
There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 



THE 



HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR 
WATER* 

TO THE 

NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

MY Lord, I know, your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you '11 hear 

Your humble Slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 



* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly pictur- 
esque and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired 
by the want of trees and shrubs. 



226 BURNS' POEMS; 

If, hapless chance ! they linger laug, 
I'm scorching up to shallow, 

They 're left the whitening stanes amang, 
In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet B * * * * came by, 
That, to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd me ; 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me, 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As nature gave them ose, 
I am, altho' I say 't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He '11 shade ray banks wi' tow'ring trees,, 

And bonnie spreading bushes ; 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You '11 wander on my banks. 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire; 
The gowdspink, music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 227 

This too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm; 
And coward maukin sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat, 

From prone descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-pending in the pool, 

Their shadows* wat'ry bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'riug thorn. 

So may, old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 



258 . BURNS' POEMS; 

So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 
The social-flowing glasses, 

The grace be—" Athole's honest men, 
" And Athole's bonnie lasses !" 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL 
IN LOCH-TURIT. 

A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF 
OUGHTERTYRE. 

WHY, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave; 
Or beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow> 
Marking you his prey below, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 229 

In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels. 
But man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand'ring swains, 
"Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from human haunts and ways; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might, 
Dare invade your native right, 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL 

OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE, 

IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT 

KEN MOKE, TAYMOUTH. 



ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,. 






£30 BURNS' POEMS; 

My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe their ample sides; 
Th' outstretching lake, embosomed 'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills; 
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste ; 
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream, 
The village, glittering in the noontide beam — 



Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods- 



Here poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 
And look through nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to sooth her bitter rankling wounds : 
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'n ward stretch her 

scan, 
And injur'd "Worth forget and pardon man. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, 

STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS, NEA 
LOCH-NESS. 



AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
"Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream i 

sounds. 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 
As deep recoiling surges foam below, 
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 
And viewless echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 
Dim-seen, through rising mists aud ceaseless show'i 
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 
And still below the horrid cauldron bpils — 



«32 BURNS' POEMS; 

ON THE 

BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 

BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES 
OF FAMILY DISTRESS. 

SWEET Flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 

And ward o' mony a pray'r, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na raove^ 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. 

November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill, on thy lovely form; 
And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree, 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 

And wings the blast to blaw, 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 

The bitter frost and snaw ! 

May He, the friend of woe aud want, 

Who heals life's various stounds, 
Protect and guard the mother plant, 

And heal her cruel wounds ! 

Eut late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 

Fair on the summer morn : 
Now feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom., thou lovely gem, 

Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 233 



THE WHISTLE, 

A 

BALLAD. 



*3* BURNS' POEMS; 

AS the authentic prose history of the Whistle is 
curious, I shall here give it,— la the train of Anne 
of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our 
James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish 
gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, 
and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a 
little ebony Whistle, which at the commencemen* 
of the orgies he laid on the table, and whoever was 
last able to blow it, every body else being disabled 
by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the 
Whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced 
credentials of his victories, without a single defeat, 
at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, 
Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in Ger- 
many; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to 
the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of ac- 
knowledging their inferiority. — After many over- 
throws on the part of the Scots, the Dane was en- 
countered by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxweltan, 
ancestor of the present worthy baronet of that 
name; who, after three days and three nights hard 
contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, 

And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, 
afterwards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel of 
Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. 
—On Friday, the l6th of October, 1790, at Friars- 
Carse, the Whistle was once more contended for, 
as related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert 
Lawrie of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glen- 
riddel, lineal descendant and representative of 
Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whose 
family it had continued; and Alexander Ferguson, 
Esq. of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great 
Sir Robert; which last gentleman carried off the hard, 
won honours of the field. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 235 



THE WHISTLE. 



I SitfG of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda,* still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
" This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, 
" And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me more !" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
~No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd; 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 



* See Ossian's Caric-thura, 



£36 BURNS* POEMS; 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

" By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
'* Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
" I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,* 
" And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe— or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care; 
But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame, 
Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A bard who detested all sadness aud spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy; 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bauds grew the tighter the more they were 
wet. 

Gay pleasure, ran riot as bumpers ran o'er; 
Bright Phoebus ue'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 



* See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 257 

Six bottles a-piece ha 5 well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
!No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 
A high-ruling Elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less diviue. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end; 
Eut who cau with fate and quart bumpers contend? 
Though fate said — a hero should perish in light; 
So uprose bright Phoebus— and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink 
f But if thou would nourish immortal in rhyme, 
" Come— one bottle more— and have at the sublime! 

u Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with 
" Bruce, 
" Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
f So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; 
f The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!" 



MISCELLANEOUS 
PIECES OF POETRY, 

EXTRACTED 
FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF BURNS J 

SONGS, 

COMPOSED FOR THE MUSICAL PUBLICA- 
TIONS OF MESSRS. THOMSON AND JOHNSON ; 

WITH ADDITIONAL PIECES. 



1ST 2 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE f 

A BROTHER POET.* 



AULD NIBOR, 

I'M three times doubly o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-farrent, frien'ly letter, 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye natter, 

Ye speak sae fair; 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hairs. 

But, Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit; 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit, 

Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' briuk, 

Rivin the words tae gar them clink; 

"Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons; 
An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think 

Braw sober lessons. 



* This is prefixed to the poems of David Sillar* 
published at Kilmarnock, 1789. 



£42 BURNS' POEMS j 

Of a' the thoughtless sons c' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan; 
Except it be some idle plan i 

O' rhymin' clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban, 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin', 
Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin' : 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there, 
Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! it's aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark or leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie? 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Haud tae the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The warl' may play you monie a shavie ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie 

Frae dcor tae door. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

'TWAS even— the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade th e pearls hang ; 
The Zephyr wantoned round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seemed the while, 
Except where green-wood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Eallochmyle. 

With careless step I onward strayed. 

My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair T chanced to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whispered passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyie i 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autyimn mild ; 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wandering in the lonely wild: 
But woman, nature's darling child! 

There all her charms she does compile; 
Even there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyie. 

O, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain ! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonny lass o' Ballochmyie. 



244 BURNS' POEMS; 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, 

"Where fame and honours lofty shine; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine, 

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 



THOU lingering star, with less'ning ray, 

Thatlov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher's t in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where i3 thy place of blissful rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
That sacred hour can I forget* 

Can I forget the hallowed grove; 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love ! 
Eternity will not efface. 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace; 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last! 
Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to bedrest, 

The birds sang love on every spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west, 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 245 

Still o'er these scenes my niem'ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but the impression deeper makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH 
LORD DAER. 



THIS wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I Rhymer Robin, alias Bums, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day, 
Sae far I spreckled up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 

IVe been at druken writers' feasts, 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 

Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ; 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty Squireships of the quorum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord— stand out my shin, 
A Lord— a Peer— an Earl's son, 

Up higher yet my bonnet ; 
And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

N3 



246 BURNS* POEMS; 

But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardy's willyart glowr, 

And how he star'd and stammer'd, 
When goavan, as if led wi' branks, 
An'stumpan' on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 



I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
An' at his lordship steal't a loot 

Like some portentous omen; 
Except good-sense and social glee, 
An' (what surprised me) modesty,. 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great* 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The feint a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman.. 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as well 's another; 
Nae honest worthy man need care, 
To meet with noble youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 247 



ON A YOUNG LADY, 

Residing on the banks of the small river Devon, in 
Clackmannanshire, but whose infant years were, 
spent in Ayrshire. 

HOW pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon 
With green-spreading bushes, and flow'rs blooming 
fair; 

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn! 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden aud lawn! 

Let Bourbou exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England triumphant display her proud rose ; 

A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



248 BURNS' POEMS; 



CASTLE GORDON. 

I. 

STREAMS that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ; 
Glowing here on golden sands, 
There comraix'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands : 
These, their richly-gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves; 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 

II. 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray 
Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way, 
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil : 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave, 
Give, me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms, by Castle Gordon. 

III. 

Wildly here without control, 
^Nature reigns and rules the whole; 
In that sober pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul, 
She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
By bonnie Castle Gordon.* 



* These verses our Poet composed to be sung to 
Morag, a Highland air, of which he was extremely 
fond. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



NAE-BODY. 

I HAE a wife o' my ain, 
I'll partake wi' nae-body ; 

I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 
I'll gie cuckold to nae-body . 

I hae a penny to spend, 
There — thanks to nae-body; 

I hae naething to lend, 
I'll borrow frae nae-body. 

I am nae- body's lord, 
I'll be slave to nae-body; 

I hae a guid braid sword, 
I'll tak dunts frae nae-body. 

I'll be merry and free, 
I'll be sad for nae-body; 

If nae-body care for me, 
I'll care for nae-body. 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG 
NAMED ECHO. 



IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore; 
Now half-extinct your powers of song, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 



250 BURNS' POEMS; 

Ye jarring screeching things around, 
Scream your discordant joys; 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



SONG. 

Tune, ' I am a man unmarried,'* 



O, ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still, 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Tal lal de ral, &c. 

As bonnie lasses I hae seen, 

And mony full as braw, 
But for a modest gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass, I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, 

And what is best of a', 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 



* This was our Poet's first attempt. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 251 

She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 

Both decent and genteel; 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars ony dress look weel. 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart, 
But it's innocence and modesty 

That polishes the dart. 

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis this enchants my soul ; 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without control. 

Tal lal de ral, Sec 



INSCRIPTION TO THE MEMORY 
OF FERGUSSON. 

HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET, 
Born, September 6th, 1751— Died, L6th October, 1774. 

NO sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
'* No storied urn, nor animated bust," 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust. 



252 BURNS' POEMS ; 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale j 

The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,, 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 

No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice, 
A king and a father to place on his throne? 

His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys, 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find 
none. 

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn : 
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ! 



EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. 



WHEN Nature her great master-piece design'd, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind ? 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts the various man. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 253 

Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth : 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth : 
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 
And all mechanics' many apron'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net : 
The caput mortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and Sxquires; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs, 
Law, physics, politics, and deep divines : 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order'd system fair before her stood, 
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounced it very good j 
But ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labour more. 
Some spumy, fiery ignis fatuus matter; 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; 
With arch-alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a poet. 
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day unmindful of to-morrow. 
A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homage ends; 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live: 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work. 



25 i BURNS' POEMS; 

Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
She cast about a standard tree to find; 
And, to support his helpless -woodbine state, 
~ Attach'd him to the generous truly great, 
A title, and the only one I claim, 
To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train, 
Weak, timid landmen on Life's stormy main! 
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff, 
That never gives— tho' humbly takes enough; 
The little fate allows , they share as soon, 
Unlike sage, proverb'd, Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 
The world were blest did bliss on them depend, 
Ah, that " the friendly e'er should want a friend !" 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
(Instinct 's a brute, aud sentiment a fool !) 
Who make poor mil do wait upon I should — 
We own they're prudent, but who feels they're good ? 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 
But come ye who the godlike pleasure know, 
Heaven's attribute distinguish' d — to bestow! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the human race: 
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace ; 
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes! 
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, 
Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid? 
I know my ueed, I know thy giving hand, 
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 
But there are such who court the tuneful nine — 
Heavens ! should the branded character be mine ! 
Whose verse iu manhood's pride sublimely flows, 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 
Mark, how their lofty independent spirit 
Soars on the spurning wing of injur' d merit! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 255 

Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 
Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 
So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends, 
But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 
In all the clarn'rous cry of starving want, 
They dun benevolence with shameless front; 
Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays, 
They persecute you all your future days! 
Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 
My horny list assume the plough again ; 
The pie-ball'd jacket let me patch once more; 
On eighteen-pence a week I've liv'd before. 
Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift 
I trust meantime my boon is in thy gift : 
That plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, 
Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, 
My muse may imp her wing for some sublimer j 
flight.* 



" I 

limer I 



* This is our Poet's first epistle to Graham of 
Fintry. It is not equal to the second ; but it contains 
too much of the characteristic vigour of its author to 
be suppressed. A little more knowledge of natural 
history, or of chemistry, was wanted to enable him to 
execute the original conception correctly. 



256 BURNS' POEMS ; 

FRAGMENT, 

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX 



HOW wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; " 

How virtue and vice blend their black and their white ; 
How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction— 
I sing : If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not I, let the critics go whistle. 

But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky 

hits; 
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right; 
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the Muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses-. 

Good L— d, what is man! for as simple he looks, 
Do but try to developehis hooks and his crooks; 
With his depths and his shallows, his good aud his 

evil, 
All in all he 's a problem must puzzle the devil. 

On his one ruling passion sir Pope hugely labours, 
That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its 
neighbours ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 257 

Mankind are his show-box— a friend, would you know 

him? 
Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will shew 

him. 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd him; 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, 
Mankind is a science defies definitions, 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, 
And think human nature they truly describe; 
Have you found this, or t' other ? there 's more in the 

wind, 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan, 
In the make of that wonderful creature, call'd Man, 
Ko two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
Kor even two different shades of the same, 
Though like as was ever twin brother to brother, 
Possessing the pne shall imply you \ r e the other. 



TO DR. BLACK LOCK. 

Ettisland, 2Lst Oct. lfZQ. 



WOW, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to: 
Lord send you ay as weel 's I want ye, 

And then ye '11 do. 



258 BURNS' POEMS; 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth, 

He'd takmy letter; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on, 

E'en tried the body.* 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'm turn'd a gauger— Peace be here! 
Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear 

Ye'll now disdain me, 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

"Will little gain me. 

Ye glaiket, gleesome, daintie damies, 
Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbics, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddres ; 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is, 

I need na vaunt, 
But I'll sned besoms— thraw saugh woodies, 

Before they want. 



* Mr. Heron, author of the History of Scotland, 
and of various other works. 



MISCELLANEOUS* 259 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Thau mony ithers; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, 

Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 

And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair; 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife, 
That 's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckie, 

As e'er tread clay ! 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie., 

I'm yours for ay. 



ROBERT BURNS. 



£60 BURNS' POEMS; 



PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLTSLAND, ON 
NEW-YEAR-DAY EVENING. 



NO song nor dance I bring from yon great city 

That queens it o'er our taste— the more 's the pity: 

Tho', by the by, abroad why will you roam ? 

Good sense and taste are natives here at home: 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wish you all a good new year ! 

Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : 

The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say, 

" You're one year older this important day," 

If wiser too— he hinted some suggestion, 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; 

And with a would-be-roguish leer and wink. 

He bade me on you press tbis one word— " think!" 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit, 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 
To you the dotard has a deal to say, 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle; 
That tho' some by tbe skirt may try to snatch him; 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
And humbly begs you '11 mind the important — now! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 26 1 

To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers, bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, 
With grateful pride we own your many favours; 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 



ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS 
BURNET, OF MONBODDO. 



LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, 

As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 

Nor envious death so triumph' d in a blow, 

As that which laid the accomplished Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set! 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, 
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flauut in summer's pride, ye groves; 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 

Ye cease to charm— Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens; 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd; 
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens, 

To you I fly, ye with my soul accord, 



262 BURNS' POEMS; 

Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth, 
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ? 

And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 
And not a muse in honest grief bewail ? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres; 

But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care : 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree, 
So from itravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 



IMITATION OF AN OLD JACOBITE 
SONG. 



BY yon castle wa' at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey ; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came— 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars: 
We dare na' weel say 't, but we ken wha 's to blame- 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd J 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame- 
There 'U never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 263 

Now life is a burden that bows me down, 
Sin* I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
But till my last moment my words are the same- 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



SONG OF DEATH. 



Scene— a field of battle; time of the day— evening ; 
the wounded and dying of the victorious army 
are supposed to join in the following Song. 



FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and 
ye skies, ■ I 

Now gay ^ith the bright sfetting sun; 
Farewell, lo^s and friendships, ye dear, tender ties, 

Our race of existence is run ! 

Thau grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ; 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 

No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 

Thou strik'st the dull peasant— he sinks in the dark, 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name : 
Thou strik'st the young hero— a glorious mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fame! 

In the field of proud honour— our swords in our hands, 

Our King and our Country to save — 
"While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands^ 

© ! who would not rest with the brave ! 
4 



02 



264 BURNS' POEMS; 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 

An Occasional Address spoken by Miss FonteneUt 
on her Benefit-Night. 



WHILE Europe's eye is fix'd ou mighty things, 
The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; 
"While quacks of state must each produce his plau> 
And even children lisp the Rights of Man; 
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention. 
The Rights of Woman merit some attention. 

First, in the sexes' intermixed connexion, 
One sacred Right of Woman is protection, — 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate, 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. — 

Our second Right — but needless here is caution, 
To keep that right inviolate 's the fashion, 
Each man of sense has it so full before him/ 
He'd die before he'd wrong it— 'tis decorum. — 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time, when rough, rude man had naughty ways; 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet — 
Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled; 
Now, well-bred men — and you are all well bred- 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 265 

"Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration 
Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear admiration ! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move ; 
There taste that life of life— immortal love.— 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares— 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms 
"Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ; 
Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah ! ga ira ! the Majesty of Woman ! 



ADDRESS, 

' Spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her Benefit-Night, 
December 4, 1795, at the Theatre, Dumfries. 

STILL anxious to secure your partial favour, 
And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; 
So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, 
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
" Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, 
" 1 know your bent — these are no laughing times: 
" Can you— but Miss, I own I have my fears, 
" Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears — 
" With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, 
(t Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance ; 
p. " Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, 
** Waving on high the desolating brand, 
r Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land ?' 



1?") 



C6<5 BURNS' POEMS; 

I could no more— askance the creature eyeing, 
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying ? 
Til laugh, that's poz — nay more, the world shall know 

it; 
And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet! 

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief, 
That Misery's another word for Grief: 
I also think — so may I be a bride! 
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh. 
Still under bleak Misfortuue's blasting eye ; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
To make three guineas do the vork of five : 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch ! 
Say, you '11 be merry, tho'- you can't be rich. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
"Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove; 
"Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st in desperate thought— a rope — thy neck — 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
"Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf ? 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself: 
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, 
And love a kinder — that's your grand specific. 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
And as we 're merry, may we still be wise. 



SONGS. 



THE LEA RIG. 



WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star, 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo ; 
And owsen frae the furrow' d field, 

Return sae dowf and weary O; 
Down by the burn, where scented birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

In mirkest glen, at miduight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey. 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 



268 13 URNS' POEMS; 



TO MARY. 



WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 

"Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
Across th' Atlantic's roar ? 

sweet grows the lime and the orange,. 
And the apple on the pine; 

33ut a' the charms o' the Indies, 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 

I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; 
And sae may the Heavens forget me, 
When I forget my vow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 

And plight me your lily-white hand; 
O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual affection to join, 
And curst be the cause that shall part us! 

The hour, and the moment o' time !* 



* This Song Mr. Thomson has not adopted in his 
collection. It deserves, however, to be preserved. 

E. 



SONGS. 269 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE 
THING. 



SHE is a winsome wee tiling, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer, 

And niest my heart I'll wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't; 
Wi' her I'll* blithly bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



O 3 



BURNS' POEMS; 



BONNIE LESLEY. 



O SAW ye bonnie Lesley 
As she gaed o'er the border? 

She's gane, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her for ever; 

For Nature made her what she is, 
And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee : 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee; 

He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
And say, " I canna wrang thee.'* 

The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 



SONGS. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 



Tune, ' Katharine Ogie.' 

YE banks, and braes, and streams around, 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Tour waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfald her robes, 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom' d the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom; 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

"Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

"We tore oursels asunder ; 
But Oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for ay, the sparkling glance, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 



272 BURNS' POEMS; 

And mouldering now in silent dust, 
That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 

But still within my bosom's core, 
Shall live my Highland Mary.* 



* The following, being another copy of verses to 
the same tune, are extracted from the Reliques of 
Burns, by Mr. Cromek. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 

How can ye blume sae fair; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care ! 

Thou'll break my heart thou bonie bird 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fause luve was true. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 

To see the wood-bine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its love, 

And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Frae aff its thorny tree, 
And my fause luver staw the rose,* 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



SONGS. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 



THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, 
He 's the king o' guid fellows, and wale of auld men ; 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, 
And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; 
She 's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; 
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

But Oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to rae, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 

O, had she but been of lower degree, 
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! 
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no^words can express. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
On blythe yule night when we were fu', 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
IiOok'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and Win', 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 

Ha, ha, &c. 

How it comes let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg grew sick— as he grew heal, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things! 

Ha, ha, &c. 



SONGS. £75 



Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Nov/ they're crouse and canty baith, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



SONG. 

Tune, ' I had a horse/ 



O POORTITH cauld, and restless love, 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 

An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
O why should fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth when I think on, 
Its pride, and a' the lave o't; 

Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, &c. 

Her een sae bonnie blue betray, 

How she repays my passion; 
But prudence is her o'erword ay, 

She talks of rank and fashion. 
why, &c. 



276 BURNS' POEMS; 

O wh,a can prudence think upon, 
And sic a lassie by him ? 

O wha can prudence think upon, 
And sae in love as I am? 
G why, &c. 

How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The sillie bogles, wealth and state, 

Can never make them eerie. 
O why should fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bauds untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 

Depend on Fortune's shining? 



GALL A WATER. 



THERE'S braw braw lads on Yarrow braes. 
That wander thro' the blooming heather ; 

But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, 
Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better \ 

And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 

Altho' his daddie was nae laird, 

And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher; 
• Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 
Thatcoft contentment, peace, or pleasure,; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! 



SONGS. 277 



LORD GREGORY. 

MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar; 
A waefu' -wanderer seeks thy tow'r, 

Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove., 

By bonnie Irwine side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

I lang, laug had denied. 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow, 

Thou wad for ay be mine ! 
And my fond heart, itsel sae true, 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Uregury, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

O wilt thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Tour willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love, 

His wrangs to heaven and me! 



I BURNS' POEMS; 

MARY MORISON. 

Tune, ' Bide ye yet/ 

MARY, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor ; 
How blithly wad I bide the stoure, ( 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string, 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard or saw : 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ! 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



SONGS. 279 



WANDERING WILLIE. 



HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Now tired with wandering, haud away name ; 

Come to my bosom my ae only dearie, 
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting, 
It was na the blast brought the tear to my e'e: 

Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers, 
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms ! 

Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows, 
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 

But if he 's forgotten his faithfullest Nanie, 
O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
But dying believe that my Willie's my ain ! 



THE SAME, 

As altered by Mr. Erskine and Mr. Thomson. 

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, haud away hame, 

Come to my bosom my ain only dearie, 
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 



280 BURNS' POEMS; 

Winter-winds blew loud and could at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e, 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
As simmer to nature, 50 Willie to me. 

Rest ye wild storms in the cave o' your slumbers, 
How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 

Blow soft ye breezes ! roll gently ye billows ! 
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms; 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, 
Flow still between us- thou dark-heaving main! 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 

While dying 1 think that my Willie's my ain ! 



Our Poet, with his usual judgment, adopted 
some of these alterations, and rejected others* 
The last edition is as follows : 



HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, haud away hame ; 

Come to my bosom my ain only dearie, 
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e, 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, 
How your dread howling a lover alarms! 

Wauken ye breezes, row gently ye billows, 
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 



SONGS. i 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, 
Flow still between us thou wide-roaring main : 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! 

WITH ALTERATIONS. 

OH, open the door, some pity to shew, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love forme, Oh! 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave. 

And time is setting with me, Oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! 
My true love, she cried, and sank down by his side., 

Never to rise again, Oh ! 



232 BURNS' POEMS ; 

JESSIE. 

Tune, ' Bonnie Dundee.' 



TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 

Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law : 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger! 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of @.\ 



SONGS. 



WHEN WILD WARS DEADLY 
BLAST WAS BLAWN. 

Air, < The Mill Mill O.' 



WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning. 

I left the lines and tented field, 

Where lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and holiest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 

And for fair Scotia hame again, 
I cheery on did wander. 

I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy : 

At length I reached the bonnie glen, 

Where early life I sported; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the Hood 

That in my een was swelling. 



231 BURNS' POEMS; 

Wi' alter' d voice, quoth I, sweet lass, 
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 

! happy, happy may he be, 
That's dearest to thy bosom ! 

My purse is light, I've far to gang, 
And fain wad be thy lodger ; 

I've serv'd my king and country lang, 
Take pity on a sodger. 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever : 
Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it, 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gaz'd— she redden'd like a rose — 

Syne pale like ony lily; 
She sank within my arms, and cried, 

Art thou my ain dear Willie? 
Ey him who made yon sun and sky — 

By whom true love's regarded, 

1 am the man; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come bame, 

And find thee still true-hearted; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly! 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main/ 
The farmer ploughs the manor; 

But glory is the sodger's prize ; 
The sodger's wealth is honour; 



SONGS. 

The brave poor sodger ne'er despjse, 
Nor count him as a stranger, 

Remember he 's his country's staj 
In day and hour of danger. 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air, ' O bonnie lass, will you lie in a Barrack V 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy ; 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady: 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving : 
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen ! 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl! 



286 BURNS' POEMS; 



SONG. 



Tune, ' Liggeram Cosh.' 

BLITHE hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 
Now nae longer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me ; 
Lesley is sae fair and coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy, is the task, 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r, 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws, 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-green sod, 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



SONG. 

Tune, ' Logan "Water/ 

O LOGA^NT, sweetly didst thou glide, 
That day I was my Willie's bride; 
And years sinsyne have o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 



SONGS. 287 

But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie -winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Tar, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May, 

Has made our hills and valleys gay : 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flowers : 

Blithe, morning lifts his rosy eye, 

.And evening's tears are tears of joy: 

My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 

While Willie 's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
JNae mate to help , nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie 's far frae Logan braes. 

O wae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flint}' hearts enjoy, 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry? 
But soon may peace bring happy days, 
And Willie, hame to Logan braes ! 



P 2 



BURNS' POEMS; 



FRAGMENT, IN WITHERSPOON'S 
COLLECTION OF SCOTS SONGS. 

Air, ' Hughie Graham.' 



" O GIN my love were yon red rose, 
" That grows upon the castle wa', 

" And I mysel' a drap o' dew, 
" Into her bounie breast to fa' ! 

u Oh, there beyond expression blest, 
" I'd feast on beauty a' the night; 

" Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
" Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light." 

* O were my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; 

And I, a bird to shelter there, 
When wearied on my little wing: 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.* 



* These stanzas were added by Burns. 



SONGS. 23Q 



BONNIE JEAN. 



THERE was a lass, and she was fair, 

At kirk and market to be seen, 
When a' the fairest maids were met, 

The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark, 

And ay she sang sae merrilie : 
The blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

Eut hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers., 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or tern 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 

As in the bosom o' the stream, 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love, 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.' 

And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na what her ail might be, 
Or what wad inak her weel again. 



£90 BURNS' POEMS; 

But did Da Jeanie's heart loup light, 
And did na joy blink in her e'e, 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 

His cheek to her's he fondly prest, 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 

O Jeanie fair, T lo'e thee dear; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ! 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi' me. 

"Now what could artless Jeanie do? 

She had nae will to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was ay between them twa. 



songs. sgi 



PHILL1S THE FAIR. 

Tune, ' Robin Adair.' 

WHILE larks with little wing, 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring, 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye, 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high ; 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phil lis the fair. 

In each bird's careless song, 

Glad did I share; 
While yon wild flowers among. 

Chance led me there: 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray j 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 

Down in a shady walk, 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the cruel hawk 

Caught in a snare: 
So kind may Fortune be, 
Such make his destiny, 
He who would injure thee, 

Phillis the fair. 



293 BURNS' POEMS; 

SONG. 

To the same Tune. 

HAD I a cave on some wild, distant shore. 
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar 
There would I weep my woes, 
There seek my lost repose, 
Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare, 
Ail thy fond plighted vows— fleeting as air? 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury, 
Then in thy bosom try, 
"What peace is there ! 



SONG. 

Tune, ' Allan "Water.' 

BY Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, 
While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;* 

The winds were whispering thro' the grove, 
The yellow corn was waving ready : 



* A mountain west of Strath-Allan, 3,009 feet high. 



SONGS. 

I listened to a lovers sang, 

And thought on youthfu* pleasures mony ; 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang — 

O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 

O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever !" 
While mony a kiss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' springes the primrose brae, 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow; 
How cheery thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ; 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? 



WHISTLE, AND ILL COME TO 
YOU, MY LAD, 



O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 
P 3 



2Qi BURNS' POEMS; 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let nae body see, 
And come as ye were na comin to me. 
And come, &c. 

O whistle, $c. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie : 
But steal me a blink o' your bonuie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. 
Yet look, &c. 

O whistle, 8&c. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee; 
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
Tor fear, &c 

O whistle, %c. 



SONGS. 2Q5 

SONG. 

Tune, ' The muckin o? Geordie's byre.' ' 



AD OWN winding Nith I did wander, 
To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

CHORUS. 

Awa! zvi y your belles and your beauties, 
They never wi' her can compare ; 

Whaever has met zvi' my Phillis, 
Has met zoV the queen o y the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 

So artless, so simple, so wild; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 

for she is simplicity's child. 
Awa, %,c. 

The rose-bud's the blush o 1 my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest: 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast, 
Awa, 4c . 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her ey$* 
Awa, 4;c. 



296 BURNS' POEMS ; 

Her voice is the song of the morning, 
That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove 

"When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, <&c. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 

While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a deeay. 
Awa, Sfjc. 



SONG. 

_ Air, « Cauld Kail.' 



COME, let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur : 
And do I hear my Jeanie own, 

That equal transports move her? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaveu to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



SONGS. 297 



DAINTY DAVIE. 



NOW rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay, green-spread iug bowers; 
And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 

There Vll spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 

Meet me, S^c. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, $c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 

And that's my ain dear Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the tear lock knowe, 
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie, 

There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 



293 BURNS' POEMS; 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Oran-gaoil.' 



BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive ; 

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart! 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must part. 
I'll often greet this surging swell, 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

" There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." 

Along the solitary shore, 

"While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 

Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 

O tell me, does she muse on me ! 



SONGS. 290 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Fee him Father.' 



THOU hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou has left me 

ever. 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me 

ever. 
Afteu hast thou vow'd that death, Only should us 

sever. 
Now thou'st left thy lass for ay — I maun see thee 

never, Jamie, 
I'll see thee never. 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me for- 
saken. 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me for- 
saken. 

Thou canst love anither jo, "While my heart is break- 
ing. 

Soon my weary een I'll close— Never mair to waken, 
Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken. 



300 BURNS' POEMS; 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days o' lang syne ? 

CHORUS. 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu 't the gowans fine; 
But we've wandered mony a weary foot, 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, %c. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

Frae mornin sun till dine : 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd, 

Sin auld laug syne. 
For aidd, S^c. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak a right guid willie-waught, 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, <fcc. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I '11 be mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, <§:c. 



SONGS. 301 

BANNOCK-BURN. 

ItOBEUT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 



SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

INow's the day, and now's the hour; 
See the frout o' battle lower; 
See approach proud Edward's power- 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee f 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Eree-man stand, or free-man fa', 
Caledonian! on wi' me! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be— shall be free! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Forward ! let us do, or die ! 



302 BURNS' POEMS; 



FAIR JENNY. 

Tune, ' Saw ye my father ? 

WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning, 
That danc'd to the lark's early song ? 

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 
At evening the wild woods among ? 

No more a winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair : 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer 's forsaken our valleys, 

And grim, surly winter is near ? 
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, 

Enjoyment I '11 seek in my woe. 



SONGS. 
SONG. 

Tune, « The Collier's dochter.' 

DELUDED swain, the pleasure 
The fickle Fair can give thee, 

Is but a fairy treasure, 
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 

The billows on the ocean, 
The breezes idly roaming, 

The clouds' uncertain motion, 
They are but types of woman. 

O ! art thou not ashamed, 

To doat upon a feature ? 
If man thou would'st be named, 

Despise the silly creature. 

Go, find an honest fellow ; 

Good claret set before thee: 
Held on till thou art mellow, 

And then to bed in glory, 



BURNS' POFJtfS; 

SONG. 

Fune, ' The Quaker's v/ife.' 



THINE am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
Ev'ry roving faucy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish : 

Tho' despair had wrung its core, 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips, 
Rich with balmy treasure : 

Turn away thine eyes of love, 
Lest I die with pleasure. 

"What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning : 
Love 's the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 



SONGS. 305 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Jo Janet.' 



HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
Tho' I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir. 

'* One of two must still obey, 

'■' Nancy, Naucy; 
** Is it man or woman, say, 

" My spouse, Nancy?" 

If 'tis still the lordly word, 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sov'reign lord, 

And so, good b'ye allegiance \ 

" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

'* Nancy, Nancy; 
" Yet I'll try to make a shift, 

" My spouse, Nancy." 

My poor heart then break it must, 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust, 

Think, think how you will bear it. 

" I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

" Nancy, Nancy ; 
" Strength to bear it will be given, 

a My spouse, Nancy." 



i BURNS' POEMS; 

Well, sir, from the silent dead, 
Still I'll try to daunt you ; 

Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 

" I'll wed another, like my dear 

" Nancy, Nancy ; 
" Then all hell will fly for fear, 

" My spouse, Nancy." 



SONG. 

Air, * The Sudor's Dochter.' 



WILT thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul, 

That 's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me; 
Or if thou wilt nae be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me, 
If it winna, canna be, 
Thou, for thine may choose me, 
Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
Lassie, let me quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



SONGS. 



BANKS OF CREE. 



HERE is the glen, and here the bower, 
All underneath the birchen shade; 

The village-bell has told the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid? 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale : 
Mixt with some warbler's dyiug fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come! and art thou true ! 

O welcome dear to love and me! 
And let us all our vows renew, 

Along the flowery banks of Cree. 



VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH 
A PRESENT OF SONGS. 



HERE, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, 
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 

Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 



S08 BURNS' POEMS 

So may uo ruffian-feeling in thy breast, 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among; 

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song. 

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 
As modest want the tale of woe reveals; 

While conscious virtue all the strain endears, 
And heaven-born piety her sanction seals. 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 

Tune, * O'er the Hills,' &c. 



HOW can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that's far away. 

CHORUS % 

On the seas and Jar away, 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are ay with him that's far away. 



When in summer's noon I faint, 
As, weary flocks arouud me pant, 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 



SONGS. 309 

Bullets, spare my only joy! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate do with me what you may, 
Spare but him that's far away ! 
On the seas, %c. 

At the starless midnight hour, 
"When winter rules with boundless power; 
As the storms the forest tear, 
And thunders rend the howling air, 
Listening to the doubling roar, 
Surging on the rocky shore, 
All I can — I weep and pray, 
For his weal that's far away. 
On the seas, S^c. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 
And bid wild war his ravage end, 
Man with brother man to meet, 
And as a brother kindly greet : 
Then may heaven with prosp'rous gales, 
Fill my sailor's welcome sails, 
To my arms their charge convey, 
My dear lad that's far away. 
On the seas, %p. 



BURNS' POEMS ; 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Ca' tlie Yowes to the Knowes.' 



CHORUS. 

Cd 1 the yozvcs to the knowes, 
Cci' them ruhare the heather growes, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, 
My bonnie dearie. 

HARK, the mavis' eveniug sang 
Sounding CLouden's woods amang; 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My honnie dearie. 
Ca 1 the, 4c 

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves, that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Co 1 the, 4c 

Yonder Clouden's silent tow'rs, 
"Where at moonshine midnight hours, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, fa. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
^Nocht of ill may come thee near. 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca the, 4c 



SONGS. 311 



Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stowu my very heart; 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, £c. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST 
OF A\ 

Tune, ' Onagh's Water-fall.' 

SAE flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 
Her smiling sae wyling, 

"Wad make a wretch forget his woe; 
"What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow : 
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, 

"When first her bonnie face I saw, 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air; 
Ilk feature — auld nature 

Declar'd that she could do nae mair: 
Her's are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign law; 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 
Q2 



5 BURNS' POEMS; 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy shew at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the houghs amang; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes her sang: 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rover 

Ey wimplirjg burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love, 

And say thou lo'es me best of a' ? 



SAW YE MY PHELY? 

(Quasi dicat Phillis.) 
Tune, * When she cam ben she bobbit.' 



O SAW ye my dear, my Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she 's wi' a new love., 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
She lets thee to -wit that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee her Willy. 

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Tbou's broken the heart o' thy Willy. 



SONGS. 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Cauld Kail in Aberdeen.' 

HOW long and dreary is the night, 

When I am frae my dearie; 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 
For oh, her lanely nights are lang ; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie j 
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When T think on the lightsome days 
I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 

And now what seas between us roar, 
How can I be but eerie? 
For oh, $c. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours; 

The joyless day how dreary ! 
It was nae sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 



BURNS' POEMS; 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Duncan Gray.' 



LET not woman e'er complain, 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain, 

Fickle man is apt to rove : 

Look abroad through Nature's range, 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, - 
Man should then a monster prove? 

Mark the winds, and mark the skies : 
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 

Sun and moon but set to rise, 
Round and round the seasons go. 

Why then ask of silly man, 
To oppose great Nature's plan ? 
We'll be constant while we can — 
You can be no more, you know. 



SONGS. 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE 
TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Tune, ' Deil tak the Wars.' 



SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature; 

Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 
Numbering ilka bud which Nature 

Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now thro' the leafy woods, 

And by the reeking floods ; 
Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray; 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower; 
, The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade, 
Nature gladdening and adorning ; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When absent frae my fair, 

The murky shades o' care 
With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; 

But when, in beauty's light, ^ 

She meets my ravish'd sight, 

When through my very heart 

Her beaming glories dart ; 
Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. 



316 BURNS' POEMS; 



THE AVLD MAN. 



BUT lately seen in gladsome green 

The woods rejoice the day, 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled, 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield, 

Sin*s in time's wintry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,, 

"Why com'st thou not again ! 



SONG. 

Tune, * My Lodging is on the cold ground.* 



MY Chloris, mark how green the groves, 
The primrose banks how fair: 

The balmy gales awake the flowers, 
And wave thy flaxen hair. 



SONGS. SIT 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly ligh ted ha' : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours 

Beneath the milk-white thorn? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo ; 
The courtier tells a finer tale, 

But is his heart as true ? 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck 
That spotless breast o' thine : 

The courtiers' gems may witness love- 
But 'tis na love like mine. 



Q 3 



313 BURNS' POEMS; 

SONG, 

ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH ONE. 



IT was the charming month of May, 
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay, 
One morning, by the break of day, 
The youthful, charming Cbloe ; 

From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 

Youthful Chloc, charming Chloe, 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feather'd people, you might see 
Ferch'd all around on every tree, 
In notes of sweetest melody, 
They hail the charming Chloe ; 

Till, painting gay the eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 
Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
Lovely was she, &c. 



SONGS. 319 

LASSIE WP THE LINT-WHITE 
LOCKS. 

Tune, ' Rothemurche's Rant.' 

CHORUS. 

Lassie wV the lint-white locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 
Wilt thmc w€ me tent the flocks, 

Wilt thou be my dearie O ? 

NOW nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou 'It be my dearie O ? 
Lassie wi\ fyc. 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We '11 to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi\ 4.c 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we '11 stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi\ %c. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest; 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. 

Lassie wV the lint-white locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 
Wilt thou wi* me tent the flocks, 

Wilt thou be my dearie O ? 



320 BURNS' POEMS; 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Nancy 's to the Greenwood/ &c, 



FAREWELL thou stream that winding flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 

mem'ry ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling i 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown^ 

I fain my griefs would cover: 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me; 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, 
For pity's sake forgive me. 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing feai'd, 

Till fears no more had sav'd me; 
Th* unwary sailor thus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing; 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



SONGS. 

DUET. 

TUNE, « The Sow's Tail.' 



HE. 
O PHILLY, happy be that day 
When roving through the gather'd hay, 
My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 

SHE. 

O Willy, ay I bless the grove 
Where first I owu'd my maiden love, 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 

HE. 

As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 

SHE. 
As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows., 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 

The milder sun and bluer sky, 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
As is a sight o' Philly. 



322 BURNS' POEMS ; 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
ComparM -wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet 
When evening shades in silence meet, 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 

HE. 

Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win ; 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that 's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

What 's a' the joys that gowd can gie ! 
I care nae wealth a single flie ; 
,. The lad I love 's the lad for me, . 
And that 's my ain dear Willy, 



SONGS. 323 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Lumps o' Pudding.' 



CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 
"Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they 're creepin alang, 
"Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a soger, and life is a faught: 
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare 
touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a' : 
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, 
"Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? 

Blind chance, let her snapper and sto v te on her way ; 
Be 't to me, be 't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure, or pain, 
My warst word is-r" Welcome, and welcome again ! 



324 BURNS' POEMS; 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, 
MY KATY? 

Tune, f Roy's wife.' 

CHORUS. 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Well thou know'st my aching heart, 
And ca?ist thou leave me thus for pity ? 



IS this thy plighted, fond regard, 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 

Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy? 
Canst thou, $c. 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! 

Thou may'st find those will love thee dear- 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thou, $c. 



SONGS. 325 

MY NANIE'S AWA. 

Tune, ' There '11 never be peace/ &c. 

NOW in her green mantle blithe nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
"While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; 
But to me it 's delightless — my Nanie 's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nanie— and Nanie 's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nauie 's awa. 

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, 
And sooth me wi' tidings o' nature's decay: 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw* 
Alane can delight me— now Nanie 's awa, 



BURKS' POEMS; 



FOR A' THAT AND A> THAT. 



IS there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ; 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 

"We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toil's obscure, and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that. 

"What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hoddin grey, and a' that; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves tLeir wine, 

A man's a man for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er saepoor, 

Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

"Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He 's but a coof for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind, 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man 's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he maunafa' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 

Are higher ranks than a' that. 



SONGS. 327 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
" May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's coming yet, for a' that, 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



SONG. 

Tune, * Craigie-bum-wood/ 

SWEET fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
And blithe awakes the morrow, 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But what a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



SONG. 



Tune, ' Let me in this ae Night.' 

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet ? 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit? 
For love has bound me, hand and foot; 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORUS. 
O let me in this ae night, 

This a e, ae, ae night; 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

O rise and let me in, jo. 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet; 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, S^c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws 
Unheeded huwls, unheeded fa's; 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain,, jo. 
O let mc in, %c. 



SONGS 329 



HER ANSWER. 



O TELL na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na' me wi' cauld disdain ! 
Gae back the gait ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

1 tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
And ancefor a 1 this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. - 

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures, 
That 's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, $c. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, fyc, 

The bird that charm'd his summer-day, 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey; 
Let witless, trusting, woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo." 
J tell you now, 4c 



BURNS' POEMS; 



ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. 



Tune, ' Where '11 bonnie Ann lie,' Or, ' Loch-Eroch 
Side.' 

O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha' kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love, and sorrow join'd, 
Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae rnair? 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 



SONGS. 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL, 



Tune, * Ay wakin O .' 

CHORUS. 

Long, long the nighty 
Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my souVs delight, 
Is on her bed of sorrow, 

CAN I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish, 
"While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish? 
Long, 4c. 

Every hope is fled. 

Every fear is terror; 
Slumber even I dread, 

Every dream is horror, 
Long, %c. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine! 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 

But my Chioris spare me ! 
Long, £c. 



332 BURNS' FOEMS ; 

SOJSG. 

Tune, f Humours of Glen.' 

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands 
reckon, 

Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. 

Ear dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : 

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild Mowers, 
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys. 

And cauld, Caledonia's blast on the wave: 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace, 
What are they? The haunt of the tyrant and 
slave ! 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain; 

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 



SONGS. 333 

SONG. 

Tune, * Laddie, lie near me.* 

*TWAS na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us , 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest ! 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH 
SONG. 

Tune, ' John Anderson my jo.' 



HOW cruel are the parents, 
"Who riches only prize ; 

And to the wealthy booby , 
Poor womau sacrifice. 



334 BUB NS' POEMS; 

Meanwhile the hapless daughter 
Has but a choice of strife; 

To shun a tyrant father's hate, 
Become a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinions tries; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet. 



SONG. 

Tune, ' Deil tak the Wars.' 



MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion, 

Round the wealthy, titled bride: 
But when compar'd with real passion, 
Poor is all that princely pride. 
"What are the showy treasures ? 
"What are tb.p noisy pleasures? 

The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art 
The polish' d jewel's blaze 
May draw the wond'ring gaze, 
And courtly grandeur bright 
The fancy may delight, 

But never, never can come near the heart. 

But did you see my dearest Chloris, 

In simplicity's array ; 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is. 

Shrinking from the gaze of day. 



SONGS. 335 

O then, the heart alarming, 
And all resistless charming, 
n Love's delightful fetters she chains the -willing soul! 
Ambition would disown 
The world's imperial crown, 
Even Avarice would deny 
His worshipp'd deity, 
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. 



SONG. 

Tune, ' This is no my ain House.' 

CHORUS. 

O this is no my ain lassie, 
Fair the? the. lassie he ; 

O weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e'e, 

I SEE a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
O this is no, fyc. 

She'sbonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall j 
And ay it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
O this is no, %c. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 

To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 

But gleg as light are lovers' een, 

When kind love is in the e'e. 

this is no, 4c 

R2 



335 BURNS' POEMS; 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lovar marks 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
O this is no, 8%c, 



TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 



SCOTTISH SONG. 



NOW spring has clad the groves in green. 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; 
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 

The trout within yon wimpling burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art: 
My life was ance that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam. 

Has scorch' d my fountains dry. 

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows, 



SONGS. 337 

Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, 

And blighted a' my bloom, 
And now beneath the withering blast 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour. 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae mair," 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



SCOTTISH SONG. 



O BONNIE was yon rosy brier, 
That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; 

And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 
It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 

How pure amang the leaves sae green; 

But purer was the lover's vow 
They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 



338 BURNS' POEMS; 

Ail in its rude and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



Written on the blank leaf of a copy of his 
Poems presented to a Lady, whom he 
had often celebrated under the name of 
Chloris* 

'TIS Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower ; 
(Aud ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower). 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

Still much is left behind; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, 

The comforts of the mind! 



SONGS. 339 



Thine is the self-approving glow, 
On conscious honour's part; 

And, dearest gift of heaven below, 
Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste, 
With every muse to rove : 

And doubly were the poet blest 
These joys could he improve. 



ENGLISH SONG. 

Tune, ' Let me in this ae night.' 



FORLORN", my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 

CHORUS. 

O wert thou, love, but near me, 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou zoouldst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs with mine, love* 

Around me scowls a wintry sky, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, Sffi. 



340 BURKS 1 POEMS ; 

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part ; 

To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

G wert, 4c 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet ! 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love, 
O wert, #c. 



SCOTTISH BALLAD. 

Tune, ' The Lothian Lassie/ 



LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 
And sair wi' his love he did deave me; 

I said there was naething I hated like men, 
The deuce gae wi* m, to believe me, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi' m, to believe me. 

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, 
Andvow'd for my love he was dying; 

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, 
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 
The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, 
And marriage aff-haod, were his proffers : 

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd, 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, 
But thought I might hae waur offers. - 



, SONGS. 311 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 
The deii tak his taste to gae near her ! 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could 

bear her, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr'd as I'd'seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shoutber I gae him a blink, 

Least neebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd her hearin, 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't feet, 

But, heavens! how he fell a swearin, a sweariu, 

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin. 

He begged, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife, 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : 
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



R3 



312 BURNS' POEMS: 



FRAGMENT. 



Tune, c The Caledonian Hunt's Delight.' 

WHY, why tell thy lover, 

Bliss he never must enjoy? 
"Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie? 

O why, while fancy, rapturM, slumbers, 
Chloris, Chloris all the theme; 

Why, why wouldst thou cruel, 
Wake thy lover from his dream ? 



HEY FOR A LASS WP A TOCHER. 



Tune, ' Balinamona ora.* 

AWA wi' your witchcraft o* beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms ; 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey, for a lass wS a tocher, then hey, for 

a lass wV a tocher, 
Then hey, for a lass zoV a tocher; the nice yellow 

guineas for me* 



SONGS. 343 

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white ypwes. 
Then hey, 4'c« 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest : 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye hae them— the mair they're carest. 
Then hey, %c. 



SONG. 

Tune, * Here's a health to them that's awa, limey.' 

CHORUS. 

Here 's a health to ane I We dear, 

Here 's a health to ane Ilo"e dear ; 

Thou art szceet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 

And soft as their parting tear— Jessy ! 

ALTHO' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
*Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside— Jessy ! 
Here 's a health, 4c 

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms; 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lockt in thy arms— Jessy ! 
Here 's a health, %c. 



544 BURKS' POEMS; 

J guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling e'e; 

But why urge the tender confession 
'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree— Jessy! 
Here y s a health, $c. 



SONG. 

Tune, ' Rothermurche.' 

CHORUS. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 
And smile as thou were wont to do ? 

FULL well thou know'st I love thee dear, 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
O, did not love exclaim, " Forbear, 
'* Nor use a faithful lover so ?" 
Fairest maid, %c. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear ; 
No love but thine my heart shall know. 
Fairest maid, &fi. 



SONGS. 3 IS 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 



Bonnie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the birks of Aberfeldy ? 

NOW simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, 
Come let us speud the lightsome days 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
• Bonnie lassie, 4c. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blithly sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, 4c 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, 8$p. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising weets wi' misty showers 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, 4c 

Le tfortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee. 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, 4c 



3i6 BURNS' POEMS; 



STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU 
LEAVE ME? 

Tune, ' An Gille dubh ciar dhubh.' 

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 

Well you know how much you grieve me ; 

Cruel charmer, can you go? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted; 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



STRATHALLANS LAMENT. 



THICKEST night o'erhang my dwelling ! 

Howling tempests o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

"Western breezes softly blowing, 
Suit not my distracted mind. 



SONGS. 347 






In the cause of right engaged, 
"Wrongs injurious co redress, 

Honour's war we strongly waged, 
But the heavens deny'd success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
Not a hope that dare attend, 

The wide world is all before us — 
But a world without a friend ! 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. 

Tune, ' Morag.* 

LOUD blaw the frosty breezes, 

The snaws the mountains cover ; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland Rover 

Far wanders nations" over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heaven be his warden : 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle-Gordon! 

The trees now naked groaning, 

Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, 
The birdies dowie moaning, 

Shall a* be blithly singing, 

And every flower be springing. 
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, 

When by his mighty warden 
, My youth 's return'd to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER 
BLOWING. 

Tune, ■ M'Grigor of Hero's Lament.' 

HAVING winds around her blowing, 

Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 

By a river hoarsely roaring, 

Isabella stray'd deploring. 

" Farewell, hours that late did measure 

" Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 

" Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow, 

*' Cheerless night that knows no morrow. 

" O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
** On the hopeless future pondering; 
" Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
" Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
* Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
" Load to misery most distressing, 
" O how gladly I'd resign thee, 
« And to dark oblivion join thee I" 



SONGS. 3*9 



MUSING ON THE ROARING 
OCEAN. 

Tune, ' Druimion dubh.' 



MUSING on the roaring ocean, 
Which divides my love and me; 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weal where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to nature's law ; 

Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that r s far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 
Ye who never shed a tear, 

Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, 
Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me : 
Downy sleep, the curtain draw^ 

Spirits kind, again attend me, 
Talk of him that's far awa ! 



350 BURNS' POEMS; 



BLITHE WAS SHE. 



Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 
Blithe was she but and ben ; 

Blithe by the banks of Ern, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

BY Oughtertyre grows the aik, 
On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw; 

But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, 4,c 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, 4c. 

Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lee; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blithe, 4c 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been; 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, 4c. 



SONGS. 3,51 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY 
WALK. 



A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a* its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat clnliy on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, 
On trembling string or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



WHERE BRAVING ANGRY 
WINTER'S STORMS. 

Tune, * N. Gow's Lamentation for Abercairnv.' 



"WHERE braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochels rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam; 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey' d, 

When first I felt their pow'r! 
The tyrant death with grim control 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death» 



SONGS. 353 



TIBBIE* 1 HAE SEEN THE DAY. 



Tuue, ' Invercald's Reel.' 



O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 
Ye would nae been sae shy ; 

For laik o' gear ye lightly me, 
But, trozoth, I care na by, 

YESTREEN I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure : 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care T. 
O Tibbie, I hae, 4c. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
"Whene'er ye like to try. 
O Tibbie, I hae, 4c 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
"Wha follows ony saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, 4c. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 
O Tibbie, 1 hae, 4c. 



t BURNS' POEMS; 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 

Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 

Tho' hardly he for sense or lear, 

Be better than the kye. 

O Tibbie, I hae, 4c. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice; 
The deil a an e wad spier your price, 
Were ye as poor as I. 
O Tibbie, I hae, <&c. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na gie her in her sark, 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark; 
Ye need na look sae high. 
O Tibbie, %c. 



CLARINDA. 



CLARIND A, mistress of my soul, 
The measur'd time is run ! 

The wretch beneath the dreary pole, 
So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 

The sun of all his joy. 

We part— but by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 



SONGS. 355 



She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
Has blest my glorious day: 

And shall a glimmering planet fix 
My worship to its ray ? 



THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM 
BURNS. 

Tune, ' Seventh of November.' 



THE day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line; 
Than kingly robes., than crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give; 
While joys above, my mind can move, 

For thee, and thee alone, I live! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss— it breaks my heart. 






350 BURNS' POEMS; 



THE LAZY MIST. 



THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill ; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, 
As autumn to winter resigns the pale year. 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 
How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues ; 
How long I have Jiv'd— but how much liv'd in vain : 
How little of life's scanty span may remain : 
What aspects, old Time, in his progress has worn ; 
What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn. 
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd! 
And downward, how weaken'd., how darken'd, how 

pain'd ! 
This life 's not worth having with all it can give, 
For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 



O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL! 

Tune, ' My love is lost to me.' 



O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill, 
To sing how dear I love thee. 



SONGS. 357 

But Nith maun be my muse's well, 

My muse maun be thy bonnie sel ; 

On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay ! 
Tot a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I coudna sing, I coudna say, 

How much, how dear I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
And ay I muse and sing thy name, 

I only live to love thee. 
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run; 

Till then— and then I love thee. 



I LOVE MY JEAN. 

Tune, ' Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey. ! 



OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
S 



5 BURNS' PCEMS; 

There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And rnorjy a hill between; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air: 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, cr green. 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 



THE Catriue woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decay'd on Catriue lee, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sickeu'd on the e'e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle, 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, . 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle. 



SOXGS. 3:Jj 



WILLIE BREIV'D A PECK O' 
MAUT. 



O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut, 
And Rob and Allan cam to see; 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

We are nafou, we're na thatfou, 
But just a drappie in our e'e; 

The cock may craw, the day may daw. 
And ay we HI taste the barley bree* 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys I trow are we; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be ! 
We are nafou, <%c. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie; 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But by my sooth she '11 wait a wee ! 
We are nafou, S$p. 

Wha first shall rise to gang away, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 

"Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
He is the king amang us three ! 
We are nafou, S^c. 



S 2 



360 BURNS' POEMS ; 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 



I GAED a waefu' gate, yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue : 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright; 

Her lips like roses, wat wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white ; 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd, 

She charm'd my soul I wist na how; 
And ay the stound, the deadly wound, 

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed; 

She '11 aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



THE BANKS OF NITH. 



Tune, ' Robie Donna Gorach.' 






THE Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
Where royal cities stately stand; 

But sweeter flows the Nith to me, 
Where Commins ance had high command : 



SONGS. 361 

When shall I see that honour' d land, 
That winding stream T love so dear ! 

Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 
For ever, ever keep me here I 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom ! 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ! 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 



JOHN Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent; 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent; 
J3ut now your brow is beld, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither; 
And mony a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither: 
Now we maun totter down, Johu, 

But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my jo. 



BURNS' POEMS: 



TAM GLEN. 

MY heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len', 

To anger them a' is a pity ; 

But what will I do wi' Tarn Gienf 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, 

In poortith I might mak a fen'; 
What care I in riches to wallow, 

If I mauna marry Tarn Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller, 

" Guid day to you, brute," he comes ben: 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller, 

But when will he dance like Tam Glen? 

My minnie does constantly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten: 

But, if it 's ordain'd I maun take him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen? 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten; 

For thrice I drew aue without failing, 
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. 

The last Halloween I was waukin 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin, 
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! 



SONGS. 363 

Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry; 

I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tarn Glen. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL, 



O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie, 

My Tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
It 's a' for the apple he '11 nourish the tree ; 

It 's a' for the hiney he '11 cherish the bee; 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He can na hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve 's an airl-penny, 

My Tocher 's the bargain ye wad buy; 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye '11 slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And ye '11 crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



THEN GUIDW1FE COUNT THE 
LAW IN. 



GANE is the day and mirk 's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, 
For ale and brandy 's stars and moon, 
And bluid-red wine 's the rysin sun. 

Then guidwife count the lawin, the lawin, the lawin> 
Then guidwife count the lawin, and bring a coggie 
mair. 

There 's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple-folk maunfecht and fen'; 
But here we 're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that 's drunk *s a lord. 
Then guidwife count, S$fi, 

My coggie is a haly pool, 
That heals the wounds o* care and dool; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it a' ye '11 find him out. 
Then guidwife count, %c. 



SONGS. 365 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO 
WP AN AULD MAN? 



WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young 
lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? 
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 
Bad luck on the pennie, S^c. - 

He 's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day Jang; 

He 's doyl't and he 's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary 's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He 's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows: 
O, dooi on the d3y I met wi* an auld man! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan; 

I '11 cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break 
him, 
And then his auld brass will bay me a new pan. 



S 3 



366 BURNS' POEMS; 



THE BONNIE WEE THING. 



BONNIE wee thing, caunie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wast thou miue, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

"Wishfully I look and languish 
In that bonnie face o' thine ; 

And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, 
Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

"Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

Tn ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ' 
Bonnie wee, fyc. 



SONGS. 367 

O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAM! 

Tune, * The Moudiewort/ 



An O, for ane and twenty, Tam ! 

An hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tarn! 
Til learn my kin a rattlin sang, 

An I saw ane and twenty, Tarn. 

THEY snool me sair, and haud me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ! 

But three short years will soon wheel roun', 
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam. 
An 0,for ane, $c. 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 

At kith or kin I need na spier, 
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam. 
An O, for ane, %c. 

They '11 hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 

But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof* 
I'm thiue at ane and twenty, Tam ! 
An 0, for ane, %c. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



.BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL. 



O LEEZE me on my spinning wheel, 
O leeze me ou my rock and reel; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
"While laigh descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinning wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit cot; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white ' 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel', 
"Where blithe I turn my spinning wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik amang the claver hay, 
The paitrick whirriu o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinning wheel. 



"Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great? 



SONGS. 

Amid their flaring, idle toys, 
-Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 



IN simmer when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield : 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will ; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, 

O' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

Its ye hae wooers moiiy ane, 

And lassie, ye're but young ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben : 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire. 

For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single liie ; t 

He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has uae luve to spare for me : 
But blithe 's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: 
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 



370 BURNS' POEMS; 

O thoughtless lassie, life 's a faught ; 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair; 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best. 

A hungry care 's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some -will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill, 

O, gear will buy me rigs o' laDd, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye; 
But the tender heart o' leesome luve, 

The gowd and siller canua buy : 
We may be poor— Robie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on; 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne ? 



FAIR ELIZA. 

A GAELIC AIR. 

TURN again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ? 

The offence is loving thee: 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ? 



SONGS. 371 

While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure-., feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



THE POSIE. 

O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be 

seen, 
O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been; 
But I will down yon river rove, among the wood 
sae green, 
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms with- 
out a peer; 
Aod a* to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in 

view, 
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou ; 
The hyacinth 's for constancy wi' its unchanging 

blue, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 



Sjft BURNS' POEMS; 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak 
away ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is 

near, 
And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her e'en sae 

clear : 
The violet 's for modesty which weel she fa's to 

wear, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken baud o' luve, 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' 

above, 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er 

remuve, 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear Mary. 



THE BANKS 0> DOON. 



YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 



SONGS. 373 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, 
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn: 

Thou minds rae o' departed joys, 
Departed never to return. 

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi* lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver stole my rose, 

But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 



WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, 

Willie was a wabster guid, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie ; 

He had a wife was dour and din, 
O Tinkler Madgie was her mither; 

Sic a -wife us Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 

She has an e'e, she has but ane, 
The cat has twa the very colour; 

Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 
A clapper tongue wad deave a miller: 

A whiskin beard about her mou, 
Her nose and chin they threaten ither j 
Sic a wife, 4c 



k BURNS' POEMS j 

She 's bow-hough'd, she's hein shinn'd, 
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter; 

She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fair in ilka quarter: 

She has a hump upon her breast, 
The twin o' that upon her shoutber; 
Sic a wife, $c. 

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, 
An' wi' her loof her face a washin ; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a Cushion; 

Her walie nieves like midden-creels, 
Her face wad fyle the Logan- Water; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 



ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! 

Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, Oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure; 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; 
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever, 

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 

"Wild as the winter now tearing the forest.. 
Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 

Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ; 



SONGS. 37 

Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; 

Tor sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 
Parting wi' Nancy, Oh, ne'er to meet mair. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? 



WILT thou be my dearie? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle-heart, 
O wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul, 
And that 's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow, that only thou 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 

Or if thou wilt na be my aiu, 
Say na thou 'It refuse me : 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me; 

Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

Lassie, let me quickly die, 

Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



376 BURNS' POEMS; 



SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 



SHE 's fair and fause that causes my smart, 

I lo'ed her meikle and lang; 
She's broken her vow, she 's broken my heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear, 
And I hae tint my dearest dear, 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gaug. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O woman lovely, woman fair! 
An angel form 's faun to thy share, 
Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair, 

I mean an angel mind. 



AFTON WATER. 



FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 



SONGS. 377 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Far roark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high., 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



BONNIE BELL. 



THE smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly winter grimly flies : 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flowery spring leads sunny summer, 

And yellow autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter, 

Till smiling spring again appear. 



373 BURNS' POEMS; 

Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 
Old Time and nature their changes tell, 

But never ranging, still uuchanging 
I adore my bonnie Bell. 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

WHERE Cart rins rowin to the sea, 
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
He is a gallant weaver. 

Oh I had wooers aught or nine, 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band, 
To gie the lad that has the land, 
But to my heart I'll add my hand, 
And gie it to the weaver. 

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; 
While bees rejoice in opening flowers ; 
While corn grows green in simmer showers, 
I'll love my gallant weaver. 



SONGS. 379 



LOUIS WHAT RECK I BY THEE ? 



LOUTS what reck I by thee, 
Or Geordie on his ocean ? 

Byvor, beggar louns to me, 
I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me ! 

Kings and nations, swith awa! 
Reif randies I disown ye ! 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 



MY heart is sair, I dare na tell, 
My heart is sair for somebody; 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake o' somebody. 
Oh-hon! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the. sake o' somebody. . 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love 

O, sweetly smile on somebody! 
TYae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do— what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



330 . BURNS' POEMS; 



THE LOVELY LASS OF 
INVERNESS. 



THE lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can sbe see; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And ay the saut tear blirjs her e'e : 
Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, 

A waefu' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear,' and brethren three, 

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see ; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. 



SONGS. 381 



A 3IOTHEWS LAMENT FOR THE 
DEATH OF HER SON. 

Time, ■ Finlayston House.' 

FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, 

And pierc'd my darling's heart : 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour'd laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond 1 bare my breast, 
O, do thou kindly lay me low 

"With him I love, at rest ! 



BURNS' POEMS; 



O MAY, THY MORN. 

O MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 
As the mirk night o' December; 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
And private was the chamber: 

And dear was she I dare ua name, 
But I will ay remember. 

And dear, %c. 

And here 's to them, that, like oursel,. 

Can push about the jorum; 
And here 's to them that wish us weel,. 

May a' that's guid watch o'er them; 
And here 's to them, we dare na tell, 

The dearest o' the quorum. 

And here 's to, <%c. 



O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN-* 



O, WAT ye wha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest dame 's in yon town, 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw : 
She wanders by yon spreading tree, 

How blest ye fiow'rs that round her blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. 



SONGS. 

How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year, 

And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear. 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town,.. 

And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr; 
But my delight in yon town, 

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

"Without my love, not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air; 

And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

O, sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinkia sun 's gaen down upon; 

A fairer than 's in yon town, 
His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear; 

I careless quit airght else below, 
But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 

And she— as fairest is her form ! 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 



T2 



334 BURNS' P0E51S; 



A RED, RED ROSE. 



O, MY luve 's like a red, red rose, 
That 's newly sprung in June: 

0, my luve 's like the melodie 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 

And fare thee weel a while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 



A VISION. 



AS I stood by yon roofless tower, 
Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, 

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care. 



SONGS. 385 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 

The stars they shot alang the sky; 
The fox was howling on the hill, 

And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path, 

"Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 

Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. 

The cauld blue north was streaming forth 

Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ; 
Athort the lift they start and shift, 

Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes, 
And by the moon-beam, shook, to see 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o* stane, 

His darin look had daunted me; 
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 

The sacred posy— Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear ; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy his former day. 
He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play, 
I winna ventur't in my rhymes. 



386 BURNS' POEMS; 



COPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS 
TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER. 

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'* 
PICTURE. 



REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name ouce respected, 
A name, which to love was the mark c«f a true heart, 

But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Tho* something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal; 
A poor friendless waud'rer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if that wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for K — G — I most heartily join. 

The Q— , and the rest of the gentry, 
Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine; 

Their titie 's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 

************ 
************ 

************ 



NEW PIECES. 387 

But loyalty truce ! we're on dangerous ground, 
Who knows how the fashions may alter? 

The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard, 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, 

And ushers the long dreary night: 
But you, like the. star that athwart gilds the sky, 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune, ' Caledonian Hunt's Delight,' 



THERE was once a day, but old Time then was 
young, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
From some of your northern deities sprung, 

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia 's divine?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign, 

Arte pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew: 

Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, — 
" Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall 
rue!" 



388 BURNS' POEMS; 

With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, 
To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; 

But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, 
Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 

Xong quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand : 
Repeated, successive, for many long years, 

They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land : 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore ; 
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth 

To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore : 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, 

No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. 

The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, 

And r obb'd bim at once of his hopes and his life : 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, 

Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : 
Hectangle-triangle, the figure we '11 choose, 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; 
But brave Caledonia 's the hypothenuse ; 

Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them 
always. 



NEW PIECES. 389 



THE following Poem was written to a Gen* 
tleman who had sent him a Newspaper, and 
offered to continue it free of Expense. 



KIND Sir, I've read your paper through, 
And faith, to me, 'twas really new ! 
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted? 
This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted, 
To ken what French mischief was brewin ; 
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin; 
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 
If Venus yet had got his nose off; 
Or how the collieshangie works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks; 
Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
Would play anither Charles the twalt : 
If Denmark, any body spak o't; 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o'tf 
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin, 
How libbet Italy was singin; 
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 
Were sayin or takin aught amiss : 
Or how our merry lads at hame, 
In Britain's court kept up the game : 
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him ! 
W r as managing St. Stephen's quorum; 
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin, 
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in; 
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, 
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin ; 
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,. 
Or if bare a— s y?,t were tax'd ; 
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls.; 
T 3 



390 BURNS' POEMS; 

If that daft buckie, Geordie W * * * s. 
Was threshin still at hizzies' tails, 
Or if he was grown oughtlius douser, 
And no a perfect kintra cooser, 
A' this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 
So gratefu', back your news I send you, 
And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! 

Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1790. 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

HAIL, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserv'd! 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 

'Mang heaps o' clavers ; 
And och ! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

Mid a' thy favours ! 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud, the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alang, 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriage? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches; 



NEW PIECES. 391 

Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches 

O' heathen tatters: 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and lear, 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian, share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan ! 
There 's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan ; 
Thou need na jouk behiut the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tamtallan, 

But thou 's for ever. 

Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines, 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes ; 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray, 
"Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day.^ 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel ; 

Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 

Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

O' witchin love, 
That charm that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 



39? BURNS' FOEMS; 

ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF- 
MUIR. 

Between the Duke of Argyle and the Earl of Mar. 



" O CAM ye here the fight to shun, 

" Or herd the sheep wi' me, man? 
w Or were ye at the Sberra-muir, 

" And did the battle see, man ?" 
I saw the battle, sair and tough, 
And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh, 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, 
0' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 

Wha glauni'd at kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads wi' black cockades 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd, 

And mony a bouk did fa', man : 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broad swords clash'd, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 

Till fey men died awa, man. 

But had you seen the philibegs., 

And skyrin tartan trews, man, 
When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs, 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When bayonets oppos'd the targe, 
And thousands hapten' d to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 

They fled like frighted doos, man, 



NEW PIECES. 

" O how deil Tarn can that be true ? 

" The chase gaed frae the north, man : 
" I saw niyseif, they did pursue 

" The horsemen back to Forth, man; 
** And at Dumblane, in my ain sight, 
" They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
" And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight; 
" But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut, 
" And mony a huntit, poor red-coat, 

" For fear amaist did swarf, man." 

My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man: 
Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebors' blood to spill; 
For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose; all crying woes, 

And so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen, 
Amang the Highland clans, man; 

I fear my lord Panmure is slain, 
Or fallen in whiggish hands, man : 

Now wad ye sing this double fight, 

Some fell for wrang and some for right; 

But mony bade the world guid-night; 

Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 

By red claymores, aud muskets' knell, 

"Wi' dying yell, the tories fell, 
And whigs to hell did flee, man.. 



394 BURNS' POEMS; 



SKETCH.— NEW YEAR'S DAY. 



TO MRS. DUNLOP. 



THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
"With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail him with their prayer ; 
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day, 
And blooming Keith 's engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
— That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow— 
And join with me a moralizing, 
This day 's propitious to be wise in. 
First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
™ Another year is gone for ever." 
And what is this day's strong suggestion? 
" The passing moment 's all we rest on !'* 
Rest on— for what? what do we here? 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
"Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may— a few years must- 
Repose us in the silent dust. 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss? 



NEW PIECES. 395 

The voice of nature loudly cries, *1 

And many a message from the skies, > 

That something in us never dies : J 

That on this frail, uncertain state, 

Hang matters of eternal weight; 

That future life in worlds unknown 

Must take its hue from this alone; 

"Whether as heavenly glory bright, 

Or dark as misery's woeful night. — 

Since then, my honour'd, first of friends, 

On this poor being all depends; 

Let us th' important now employ, 

And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd, 

Witness that filial circle round, 

(A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 

A sight pale envy to convulse,) 

Others now claim your chief regard; 

Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



EXTEMPORE, on the late Mr. William 
Smellie, Author of the Philosophy of Na- 
tural History, and Member of the Antiqua- 
rian and Royal Societies of Edinburgh. 



TO Crochallan came 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
>Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night, 
His uncombed grizzly locks wild staring, thatch* d, 
A head, for thought profound and clear, unmatched; 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 



390 BURNS' POEMS; 



POETICAL INSCRIPTION for an Altar 
to Independence, at Kerroughtry, the Seat of 
Mr. Heron; written in Summer 9 1795* 



THOU of an independent mind, 
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd ; 
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave, 
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave; 
Virtue alone who dost revere, 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear, 
Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF 
ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ. 

OF GLEN RIDDEL; APRIL, 1794. 



NO more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 
Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul: 
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole> 

More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 
How can I to the tuneful strain attend? 

That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where 
Riddel lies. 



NEW PIECES. 397 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe, 
And sooth the Virtues weeping on this bier : 
The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer, 
Is in his " narrow house" for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet; 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 



MONODY ON A LADY FAMED 
FOR HER CAPRICE. 



HOW cold is that bosom which folly once fired ! 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately 
glistened ! 
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired ! 

How dull is that ear which to flattery so listened ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 
From friendship and dearest affection remov'd ; 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate, 
Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unlov'd. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear : 
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 

"We '11 search thro' the garden for each silly flower, 
We '11 roam thro' the forest for each idle weed; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 
For none e'er approach'd her but ru'd the rash 
deed. 



398 BURNS' POEMS; 

We 'il sculpture the marble, we '11 measure the lay.; 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from Mi 



THE EPITAPH. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam : 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



ANSWER to a Mandate sent by the Sur* 
veyor of the Windows, Carriages, fyc. to each 
Farmer, ordering him to send a signed JList 
of his Horses, Seixants, Wheel-Carriages, 
fyc, and whether he vms a married Man or 
a Bachelor, and what Children they had. 



SIR, -as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
My horses, servants, carts, and graith, 
To which. I 'm free to tak my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew before a pettle. 
Mj' hand-a-fore, a guid auld has-been, 
And wight and wilfu' a' his days seen ; 
My hand-a-hin, a guid brown filly, 
Wha aft hae borne me safe frae Killie, 



NEW PIECES. 399 

And your auld borough mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime : 
I\Iy fur-a-hin, a guid grey beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd : 
The fourth, a Highland Donald hasty, 
A d-mn'd red-wud, Kilburnie blastie. 
For-by a cowte, of cowtes the wale, 
As ever ran before a tail ; 
An' he be spar'd to be a beast, 
He '11 draw me fifteen pund at least. 

Wheel carriages I hae but few, 
Three carts, and twa are feckly new ; 
An auld wheel-barrow, mair for tokeM, 
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken; 
I made a poker o' the spindle, 
And my auld mither brunt the trundle. 
For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-deils for rantin and for noise ; 
A gadsman ane, a thresher t'other, 
Wee Davoc hauds the nowte in fother. 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, 
And often labour them completely ; 
And ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
I on the questions tairge them tightly, 
Till faith wee Davoc 's grown sae gleg, 
(Tho' scarcely langer than my leg,) 
He '11 screed you off effectual calling, 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. 

I've nane in female servant station, 

Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation ! 

I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is, 

And ye hae laid nae tax on misses; 

For weans I'm mair than well contented. 

Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted; 

My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, *) 

She stares the daddie in her face, C 

Enough of ought ye like but grace. j 



400 BURNS' POEMS; 

But her, my bonny, sweet, wee lady, 
I've said enough for her already, 
And if ye tax her or her mither, 
By the L— d ye'se get them a' thegither! 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 

Nae kind of license out I'm taking. 

Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 

Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle; 

I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thanked? 

And a' my gates on foot I'll shank it. 

This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it, 
The day and date as under noted; 
The j. know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic 

ROBERT BURNS. 



SONG. 



NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show; 
Gie me my highland iassie, O. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wV right good zvill; 
To sing my highland lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
You palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, #c. 



HEW PIECES. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I'll love my highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, %c, 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, %c. 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar, 
For her I'll trace a distant shore., 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honour's band! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my highland lassie, O. 

Farewell the glen sae bit shy , O I 
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O ! 
To other lands I now must go, 
To sing my highland lassie, O ! 



I BURNS' POEMS; 

IMPROMPTU, 
ON MRS. >s BIRTH-DAY^ 

NOVEMBER 4, 1793. 

OLD Winter with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred : 
What have I done of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Nights horrid car drags, dreary slow ; 
My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 

Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 

To counterbalance all this evil; 

Give me, and I've no more to say, 

Give me Maria's natal day ! 

That brilliant gift will so enrich me, 

Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me | 

*Tis done ! says Jove ; so ends my story, 

And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



NEW PIECES. 493 



ADDRESS TO A LADY. 



OH, wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, ou yonder lea; 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bieid should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste,. 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare„ 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou v/ert there, if thou wert there, 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi* thee to reign; 
The brightest jewel in my crown, 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen,. 



404 BURNS* POEMS; 

TO A YOUNG LADY. 

MISS JESSY L , DUMFRIES; 

"With Books which the Eard presented her. 

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
And with them take the poet's prayer; 
That fate may in her fairest page, 
"With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name : 
"With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill— but chief, man's felon snare; 
All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 



SONNET, written on tlie 25th of January, 
1793, the Birth-day of the Author, on hear' 
ing a Thrush sing in a morning Walk, 



SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough ; 

Sing en, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain ; 

See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 
At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow. 



NEW PIECES. 405 

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, 
Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them pait, 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies ! 

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 
What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care; 
The mite high Heaven bestowed, that mite with thee 
I'll share. 



EXTEMPORE, to Mr. S**E, on refusing 
to dine with him, after having been promised 
t he first of Company , and the first of Cookery ; 
17th December, 1795. 



NO more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
And cook'ry the first in the natjou ; 

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



106 BURNS' POEMS; 



TO Mr. S**E, with a Present of a Dozen 
of Porter. 

O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind. 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
'Twere drink for first of human kind, 

A gift that e'en for S * * e were fit. 

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Tune, ' Push about the Jorum.* 
April, 1795. 



DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat? 

Then let the loons beware, Sir, 
There 's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon, 

And Criffel sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a. foreign foe 

On British ground to rally! 

Fall de rail, #c. 



NEW PIECES. 407 

O let us not like snarling tykes 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loon 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted. 

Fall de rail, %c. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state, 

Perhaps a rlaut may fail in 't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loun 

Shall ever ca' a nail in 't. 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 
By heaven the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fall de rail, %c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch his true-born brother, 
Who would set the mob aboon the throne, 

May they be damned together ! 
Who will not sing, " God save the King," 

Shall hang as high 's the steeple; 
But while we sing, " God save the King." 

We '11 ne'er forget the People. 



U2 



408 BURNS' POEMS; 



POEM. 

ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR 
OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 1796. 

FRIEND of the Poet, tried and leal, 
"Wha wanting thee, might beg or steal; 
Alake, alake, the meikle deil 

Wi* a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel, 

In my poor pouches. 

I modestly fu* fain wad hint it, 

That one pound one, I sairly want it: 

If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, 

I'd bear 't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loaniu 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 

POSTSCRIPT. 
Ye've heard this while how I 've been licket, 
And by fell death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loun! he gat me by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 



NEW PIECES. 409 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, 
My hale and weel I'll take a care o't, 

A tentier "way : 
Then farewell folly, hide and hair o% 

For ance and aye. 



Sent to a Gentleman whom he had offended, 



THE friend whom wild from wisdom's way. 
The fumes of wine infuriate send; 

(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
"Who but deplores that hapless friend? 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, 
Ah why should I such scenes outlive! 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



410 BURNS' POEMS; 



POEM ON LIFE. 

ADDRESSED TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER, 
DUMFRIES, 1796. 



MY honour'd colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 

Would pain and care, and sickness spare it; 

And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve: 
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret; 

Syne wha wad starve ?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still, 
Ay wavering like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
"Watches, like baudrans by a rattan, 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on, 

He 's off like fire. 



NEW PIECES. 

Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! it is na fair, 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's damned waft. 

Poor man the flie, aft bizzes by, 

And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 

Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy, 

And hellish pleasure ; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon heels o'er gowdie ! in he gangs, 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle, 
As dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you witli this drauuting drivel, 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil ! 

Amen! amen! 



412 BURNS' FOEMS; 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACH. 



MY curse upon thy venom' d stang , 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang 
And thro' my lugs gies mouy a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance* 
Tearing my nerves wi 1 bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 

"When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Ay mocks our groan! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I throw the wee-stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets keckle, 

To see me loup ; 
While raving mad, I "wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 

O' a' the num'rous human dools, 

111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 

Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools, 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
"Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

Iu dreadfu' raw, 
Thou, Tooth-ach, surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a' ! 



NEW PIECES. 413 

O thou grim mischief-making chiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick; — 
Gie a' the faes o* Scotland's weal 

A towmond's Tooth-ach ! 



SONG. 

Tune, ' Morag.' 



O WHA is she that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a keeping? 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' simmer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

O that's the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' woman kind. 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming, 
That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
Ere while thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming. ' 
that's, %c . 

U 3 



*14 BURNS' POEMS; 

If thou hadst heard her talking, 
And thy attentions plighted, 

That ilka body talking, 
But her by thee is slighted ; 
And thou ait all delighted. 
O that's, 4c. 

If thou hast met this fair one; 
When frae her thou hast parted* 

If every other fair one, 
But her thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted. — 
O that's, &c. 



SONG. 



JOCKEY 's ta'en the parting kiss> 
O'er the mountains he is gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss, 
Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 
Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 

Sound and safely may he sleep, 
Sweetly blithe his waukening be ! 



NEW PIECES. 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly he '11 repeat her name; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



SONG. 



MY Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of hermitage might warm; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly, heavenly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art, 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye; 
Who but owns their magic sway, 
Who but knows they all decay! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look, that rage disarms, 
These are all immortal charms. 



416 BURNS' POEMS; 



WRITTEN in a Wrapper enclosing a Letter 
to Capt. Grose, to be left with Mr. Cordon- 
nely Antiquarian, 

Tune, • Sir John Malcolm.* 

KEN ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

Igo, % ago, 
If he 's amang his friends or foes ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he South, or is he North ? 

Igo, <fc ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies? 

Igo, 4 ago, 
And eaten like a weather-haggis? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abrara's bosom gane ? 

Igo, 4 ago, 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! 

Igo, 4 ago, 
As for the deil, he daur na steer him, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit the enclosed letter, 

Igo, g ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor. 

Iram, coram, dago. 



NEW PIECES. 417 



So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo, 4; ago, 
The very stanes that Adam bore. 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo, 4 agd, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 
Iram, coram, dago. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., 
OF FINTRY, 

ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR, 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns ; 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, . 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day! thou other paler light! 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace; 
Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres, 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 



418 BURNS' POEMS ; 



EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 

AN honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his image blest; 
The friend of man, the friend of truth; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth; 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd : 
If there's another world, he lives in bliss; 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER, 



O THOU, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 
And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guid*, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted, or denied, 

Xord, bless us with content! 
Amen* 



NEW PIECES. 41f 



To my dear and much honoured Friend f 
Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop. 

ON SENSIBILITY. 



SENSIBILITY, how charming, 
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell; 

But distress with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well I 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 

Telling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure, 
Finer feelings can bestow ; 

Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 
Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



420 BURNS' POEMS: 



A VERSE composed and repeated by Burns, 
to the Blaster of the House, on taking leave 
at a Place in the Highlands, where he had 
been hospitably entertained. 



WHEN death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come; 

In Heaven itself, I '11 ask no more, 
Than just a Highland welcome. 



FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE. 



SCENES of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew, 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 

Bonny Doon, sae sweet and gloamin, 
Tare thee weel before I gang ! 

Bonny Doon, whare, early roaming, 
First I weav'd the rustic sang ! 

Bowers, adieu, whare Love, decoying, 
First inthrall'd this heart o' mine, 

There the safest sweets enjoying, 
Sweets that Mem'ry ne'er shall tyne ! 



NEW PIECES. 

Friends, so near my bosom ever, 
Ye hae rendered moments dear; 

But, alas! when forc'd to sever, 
Then the stroke, O, how severe ! 

Friends ! that parting tear reserve it, 
Tho' tis doubly dear to me ! 

Could I think I did deserve it, 
How much happier would I be ! 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew, 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu! 



MISCELLANEOUS 
POETRY, 

SELECTED FROM 

THE RELIQUES 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS; 

FIRST PUBLISHED BY 

K. H. CROMEK, 



[ 425 } 
/ 

MISCELLANEOUS POETRY, 



VERSES WRITTEN AT SELKIRK, 



I. 

AULD chuckie Reekie's* sair distrest, 
Down droops her ance wee'l burnish't crest, 
Nae joy her bonie buskit nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 
Willie's awa ! 

II. 

O Willie was a witty wight, 
And had o' things an unco' slight; 
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 

And trig an' braw: 
But now they'll busk her like a fright, 
Willie's awa ! 

III. 

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 

That was a law : 
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, 
Willie's awa! 



Edinburgh. 



I BURNS' POEMS; 

IV. 

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools, 
Fiae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools 

In glen or shaw ; 
He wba could brush them down to mools, 
Willie's awa! 

V. 
The brethren o' the Commerce-Cbaumer* 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; 
He was a dictionar aDd grammar 
Amang them a'; 
I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer, 
Willie's awa! 

VI. 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour,t 
And toothy critics by the score, 
In bloody raw ! 
The adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa ! 

VII. 
Now worthy G*****y's latin face, 
T****r's and G*********'s modest grace; 
M'K****e, S****t, such a brace 

As Home ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 
Willie's awa! 



* The Chamber of Commerce of Edinburgh, of 
which Mr. C. was Secretary. 

+ Many literary gentlemen were accustomed to 
meet at Mr. C— 's house at breakfast. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 427 

VIII. 

Poor Burns— e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, 
He cheeps like some bewildered chicken, 
ScarM frae its minnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ; 
Griefs gien his heart an unco kicking 
Willie's awa. 

IX. 

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum, 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum 

His quill may draw; 
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum, 
Willie's awa ! 

X. 

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red, 

While tempests blaw ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 
Willie's awa ! 

XI. 
May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 
In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee ! Willie Creech, 
T ho' far awa ! 

XII, 

May never wicked fortune touzle him! 
May never wicked men bamboozle him ! 
Until a pow as auld's Melhusalem ! 

He canty claw ! 
Then to the blessed, New Jerusalem, 
Fleet wing awa ! 



m BURNS' POEMS; 

LIBERTY, 
A FRAGMENT. 



THEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
Thee, fam'd for martial deed and sacred soug, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
"Where is that soul of freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead! 

Beneath that hallowed turf where Wallace lie*! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence, sweep; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath . — 

Is this the power in freedom's war 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 

Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 
One quenched in darkness like the sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 



MISCELLANEOUS. * 429 

ELEGY 

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX.* 

NOW Robin lies in his last lair, 

He '11 gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him; 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him, 
Except the moment that they crush't him; 
For sune as chance or fate had husht 'en 

Tho' e'er sae short, 
Then wi* a rhyme or song he lasht 'em, 

And thought it sport, — 

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 

And counted was baith wight and stark. 

Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
Eut tell him, he was learn'd and dark. 

Ye roos'd him then ! t 



* Ruisseaux— a play on his own name, 
t Ye roos'd— ye prais'd. 
X 



430 BURNS* POEMS; 

GU ID WIFE, 
A FRAGMENT,* 



I MIND it Weel, in early date, 

"When I was beardless, young, and blate, 

An' first could thresh the barn, 
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh, 
An' tho' fu' foughten sair eneugh, 

Yet unco proud to learn. 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power) 
A wish, that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast; 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some useful plan, Or beuk could make, 

Or sing a song at least. 

The rough bur-thistle spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd my weeding heuk aside, 

An' spar'd the symbol dear. 



* March, 1787- 



' 



MISCELLANEOUS. 431 



THE LOYAL NATIVES' VERSES.* 



1 sons of sedition, give ear to my song, 

5 Syme, Burns, and Maxwell, pervade every 

throng, 
ith, Craken the attorney, and Mundell the 
quack, 
Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack. 



BURNS— Extempore. 



YE true ** Loyal Natives," attend to my song, 
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; 
From envy and hatred your corps is exempt; 
But where is your shield from the darts of con- 
tempt ? 



* At this period of our Poet's life, when political 
animosity was made the ground of private quarrel, the 
following foolish verses were sent as an attack on 
Burns aud his friends for their political opinions. 
They were written by some member of a club styling 
themselves the Loyal Natives of Dumfries, or rather 
by the united genius of that club, which was more 
distinguished for drunken loyalty, than either for 
respectability or poetical talent. The verses were 
handed over the table to Burns at a convivial meet- 
ing, and he instantly endorsed the subjoined reply. 
Reliques, p. 168. 



X2 



BURNS' POEMS, 



TO J. LAPRA1K. 



Sept. 13th, 1785. 



GUID speed an* furder to you Johuy, 
Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bony; 
Now when ye're nickan down fu' cany 

The staff o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o ? brany 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it, 

But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 

Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

"Wi' muckle wark, 
Ad' took my jocteieg* an' whatt it, 

Like ony clerk. 

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men, 
While deil a hair yoursel ye're better, 

But mair profane. 



' Jocteieg— 2. knife. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sels; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us, 
But browster wives* and whiskie stills, 

They are the muses. 

Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, 

An' if ye mak' objections at it, 

Then nan' in nieve some day we'll knot it, 

An' witness take, 
An' when wi' Usquabae we've wat it, 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaun without the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theckit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae 

Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty, 

Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty, 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine years less than thretty, 

Sweet ane an' twenty ! 

But stooks are cowpet wi' the blast, 
An' now the sinn keeks in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quat my chanter ; 
Sae I subscribe mysel in haste, 

Your's, Rab the Ranter. 



* Browster wives— Alehouse wives. 



434 BURNS' POEMS; 



TO THE REV. JOHN WMATH, 

ENCLOSING A COPY OF HOLY WILLIE'S 
PRAYER, WHICH HE HAD REQUESTED. 

Sept. Hth, 1735. 

WHILE at the stook the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, 
Or in gulravage rinnin scow'r, 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie now she 's done it, 

Lest they shou'd blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it 

And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, 
That I, a simple, countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Louse h-11 upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
Their sighan, canlan, grace-prood faces, 
Their three-mile prayers, an' hauf-mile graces, 

Their raxan conscience, 
Whas greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces, 

Waur nor their nonsense. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 435 

There's Gaun* miska't waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid's the priest 

Wha sae abus't him. 
An* may a bard no crack his jest 

"What way they've use't him. 

See him,t the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word an' deed, 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skellums, 
An' not a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums ? 

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, 
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd be. 
But twenty times, I rather would be. 

An atheist clean, 
Than under gospel colours hid be, 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass, 
An honest man may like a lass, 
But meau revenge, an* malice fause, 

He'll still disdain, 
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws, 

Like some we ken. 



* Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 

t The poet has introduced the two first lines of 
this stanza into the dedication of his works to Mr. 
Hamilton. 



436 BURNS' POEMS j 

They take religion in their mouth; 
They talk o' mercy, grace an' truth, 
For what ? to gie their malice skouth 

On some puir wight, 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth, 

To ruin streight. 

All hail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee 5 
To stigmatise false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' mony a stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train, 

With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with those, 
Who boldly dare thy cause maintain 

In spite of foes : 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite of undermining jobs, 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr, my dear, my native ground, 
Within thy presbytereal bound 
A candid lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as christians too, renown'd, 

An' manly preachers. 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd 

(Which gies you honour) 
tven, Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, 

An' winning manner. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 437 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' if impertinent I've been, 
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd ye. 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., 
MAUCHLINE. 

(RECOMMENDING A BOY.) 

Mosgaville, May 3, 1786. 



I HOLD it,- Sir, my bounden duty 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M'Gaun,* 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don't affhan': 



* Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline ; a dealer 
in Cows. It was his common practice to cut the 
nicks or markings from the horns of cattle, to dis- 
guise their age. — He was an artful trick-contriving 
character; hence he is called a Snick-drawer. In 
the Poet's "Address to the Deil" he styles that 
august personage an auld, snick-drawing dog ! 

Reliques, p. 397 » 
X 3 



*33 BURNS* POEMS 

But lest he learn the callan tricks, 

As faith I muckle doubt him, 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, 
An' tellin' lies about them ; 
As lieve then I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be, 
Not fitted otherwhere. 

Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough, 

An' bout a house that's rude an' rough, 

The boy might learn to swear; 
But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught, 
An' get sic fair example straught 

I hae na ony fear. 
Ye'll catechize him every quirk, 

An' shore him weel wi' hell; 

An' gar him follow to the kirk 

—Ay when ye gang yoursel* 
If ye theD, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin Friday, 
Then please, Sir, to lea'e, Sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honour I hae gien, 

In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 

To meet the WarloVs worm; 
To try to get the twa to gree, 
An' name the airles* an' the fee, 

In legal mode an* form : 
I ken he weel a Snick can draw, 

When simple bodies let him; 
An' if a Devil be at a', 

In faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you an' praise you, 

Ye ken your Laureat scorns ! 

The pray'r still, you share still, 

Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 



* The Airles— Earnest Money. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 43$ 



To Mr. M'ADAM, of Craigen-Gillan, 

In answer to an obliging Letter he sent in the 
commencement of my Poetic Career. 



SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
See wha taks notice o' the bard 

I lap and cry'd fu' loud. 

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 
The senseless, gawky million; 

I'll cock my nose aboon them a', 
I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan ! 

Twas noble, Sir ; 'twas like yoursel, 
To grant your high protection : 

A great man's smile ye ken fu' well, 
Is ay a blest infection. 

Tho', by his banes wha in a tub 

Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub, 

I independent stand ay. — 

And when those legs to guid, warm kail, 

Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
A lee dyke-side, a sy bow-tail, 

And barley-scone shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath, 

O' mony flowery simmers ! 
And bless your bonie lasses baith, 

I'm tald they're loosome kimmers ! 



410 BURNS' POEMS; 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 
The blossom of our gentry ! 

And may he wear an auld man's beard, 
A credit to his country. 



To CAPTAIN RIDDEL, Glenriddel 

(Extempore Lines on returning a Newspaper,) 

Ellisland, Monday Evening. 

YOUR news and review, Sir, I've read through and 
through, Sir, 

With little admiring or blaming ; 
The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, 

No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends, the reviewers, those chippersand hewers, 

Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir; 
But of meet, or unmeet, in afabrick complete, 

I'll boldly pronounce they are none, Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodnee 

Bestowed on your servant, the Poet; 
Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun. 

And then all the world, Sir, should know it ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 441 



To TERRAUGHTY* on his Birth-Day. 



HEALTH to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief! 
Health, ay utisour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf, 

This natal morn,, 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief,. 

Scarce quite half worn.— 

This day thou metes threescore eleven, 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 

Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, 

May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour, 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure — 

But tor thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonie, 
May couthie fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blithe and e'enings funny 

Bless them and thee! 



* Mr. Maxwell, of Terraugbty, near Dumfries. 



\ BURNS' POEMS ; 

Fareweel, auld birkie ! Lord be near ye, 
And then the Deil he daur na steer ye : 
Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye, 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca' me. 



To A LADY, 
With a Present of a Pair of Drinking-Glasses, 

FAIR Empress of the Poet's soul, 

And Queen of Poetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon, 

This humble pair of glasses. — 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

a The whole of human kind /" 

" To those who love usl if — second fill ; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us! 

A third—" to thee and me, love!" 



MISCELLANEOUS. 443 



THE VOW ELS,— A Tale. 

'TWAS where the birch aud sounding throng are ply'd. 

The noisy domicile of pedant pride; 

Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws, 

And cruelty directs the thickening blows ; 

Upon a time, Sir Abece the great, 

In all his pedagogic powers elate, 

His awful chair of state resolves to mount, 

And call the trembling vowels to account. 

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
But, ah! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on his way, 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted, ail 

Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous grace 
The justling tears ran down his honest face ! 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own; 
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! 
The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound' 
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound ; 
And next the title following close behind, 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd. 

The cobwebb'd gothic dome resounded, Y ! 
In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply : 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground ! 

In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert, 
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his -art: 
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast, 
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, 
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, 
Baptiz'd Rim eu, and kick'd him from his sight. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



SKETCH.* 



A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still his precious self his dear delight: 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets, 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets. 
A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive V amour ; 
So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
His solid sense— by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 



* This sketch seems to be one of a Series, in- 
tended for a projected work, under the title of. 
* The Poet's Progress." This character was sent as 
a Specimen, accompauied by a letter to Professor 
Dugald Stewart, in which it is thus noticed : a The 
" fragment beginning, A little, upright, pert, tart, 
" &c. I have not shewn to any man living, till I 
" now send it to you. It forms the postulata, the 
" axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it 
" appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. 
" This particular part I send you merely as. a sample 
M of my hand at portrait sketching." 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



SCOTS PROLOGUE, 

For Mr, Sutherland's Benefit Night, 
Dumfries. 



WHAT needs this din about the town o* Lon'on, 
How this new play an* that new sang is comin ? 
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted? 
Does nonsense mend, like whisky, when imported 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece 
To gather matter for a serious piece; 
There's themes enough in Caledonian story, 
Would shew the tragic muse in a' her glory. — 

Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless, fell? 
Where are the muses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce; 
How here, even here, he first unsheath d the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing. 
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin? 
" O for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene, 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen ! 
Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : 
A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, 
As able and as cruel as the Devil ! 



446 BURNS' POEMS; 

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 
A Douglas followed to the martial strife, 
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 
Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads! 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 
"Would take the muses' servants by the hand; 
Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them, 
And where ye justly can commend, commend them; 
And aiblins when they winna stand the test, 
Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best ! 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution 
Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
And warsle time, an' lay him on his back ! 

For us and for our stage should ony spier, 
ri Whose aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here ?" 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
We have the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
But like good mithers, shore before ye strike. — 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, 
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets and ranks : 
God help us ! we're but poor— ye'se get but thanks. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 447 



Extemporaneous Effusion on being appointed 
- to the Excise. 



SEARCHING auld wives' barrels 

Och, ho ! the day ! 
That elarty barm should stain my laurels ; 

But— -what '11 ye say ! 
These muvin' things ca'd wives and weans 
Wad muve the very hearts o' stanes! 



On seeing the beautiful Seat of Lord G. 

WHAT dost thou in that mansion fair ? 

Flit G , and find 

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind 



On the Same. 

NO Stewart art thou G , 

The Stewarts all were brave ; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but foots. 
Not one of them a knave. 



443 BURNS' POEMS; 



On the Same, 



BRIGHT ran thy line, O G , 

Thro' many a far-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, 
So euded in a mire. 



To the Same, on the Author being threatened 
with his Resentment, 



SPARE me thy vengeance, G- 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

For thou hast none to give. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 449 

THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 

A NEW BALLAD. 
Tune, " The Dragon of Wantley." 



DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw, 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job — 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.— 

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, 

Among the first was number'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth remember'd. — 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And wan his heart's desire ; 
Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, 

Though the devil p — s in the fire. — 

Squire Hal besides had, in this case, 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy ; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. — 



450 BURNS' POEMS; 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision : 
Kay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet, 

Till for eloquence you hail him, 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the ass of Balaam. — 



EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF 
SESSION^ 

Tune, ' Gillicrankie.' 
LORD A TE. 



HE clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

He quoted and he hinted, 
Till in a declamation-mist, 

His argument he tint* it : 
He gaped for % he graped for 't, 

He fand it was awa, man ; 
But what his common sense came short, 

He eked out wi' law, man. 



Tint— lost. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 451 



MR. ER— NE. 
Collected Harry stood awee, 

Then open'd out his arm, man; 
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e, 

And ey'd the gathering storm, man : 
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail, 

Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes, 

Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 



VERSES TO J. RANKEN. 

The Person to whom his Poem on shooting the 
Partridge is addressed, while Ranken occu- 
pied the Farm of Adam-Hill, in Ayrshire.) 

AE day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles* in a halter : 



* The word Wintlc, denotes sudden and involun- 
tary motion. In the ludicrous sense in which it is 
here applied, it may be admirably translated by 
the vulgar London expression of Dancing upon 
nothing. 



452 BURNS' POEMS; 

Asham'd himsel to see the wretches, 

He mutters, glow'rin at the bitches, 

" By G-d I'll not be seen behint them, 

" Nor 'mang the spir'tual core present them, 

" Without, at least ae honest man, 

** To grace this d d infernal clan." 

By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
" L— d God !" quoth he, " I have it now 
" There's just the man I want, i' faith," 
And quickly stoppit Ranken's breath. 



On hearing that there was Falsehood in the 
Rev. Dr. B 's very Looks. 



THAT there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny: 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 



On a Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish, Fifeshire. 



HERE lie Willie M— hie's banes, 
O Satan, when ye tak him, 

Gie him the schulin of your weans ; 
For clever Deils he'll mak 'em ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 4-53 



ADDRESS TO GENERAL 
DUMOURIER. 

(A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR.) 

YOU'RE welcome to Despots, Dumourier; 

You're -welcome to Despots, Dumourier. — 

How does Dampiere do ? 

Aye, and Bournonville too? 

"Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier ? 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier, — 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier : — 

I will fight France with you, 

I will take my chance with you; 

By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier. . 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 

Then let us fight about, 

Till freedom's spark is out, 

Then we'll be d-mned no doubt— Dumourier. 



454 BURNS' POEMS; 

ELEGY 

ON THE YEAR 1788. 
A SKETCH. 



FOR Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die— for that they're born? 
But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 
A Towmont,* Sirs, is gane to -wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events ha'e taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us J 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead; 
The tulzie's sair 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks ; 
The tane is game, a bluidie devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil: 
The tither's something dour o' treadin, 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden — 

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit, 
An' cry till ye be haerse an' roupet, 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 



* A Towmont~A Twelvemonth. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 455 

E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for a little feck ! — 

Ye bonie lasses, dight your e'en, 
For some o' you ha'e tint a Men' ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en, 
"What ye'll ne'er ha'e to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, 
How dowf and daviely they creep; 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry, 
For E'nbrugh wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no o'er auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou now has got thy Daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuffd, mizzl'd, hap-shacki'd Regent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Ee sure ye follow out the plan ~\ 

Nae waur than he did, honest man; > 

As muckle better as you can. 3 

January 1, 1789. 



Y* 



456 BURNS' POEMS; 



VERSES 






Written under the Portrait of Fergusson, the 
Poet, in a copy of that author's works pre- 
sented to a young Lady in Edinburgh, 
March 19, 1787. 



CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure, 
O thou my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
"Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 457 

SONG.* 

Tune, 'lama Man unmarried.' 



O ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass. 

Ay, and I love her still, 
And whilst that honour warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal lal de ral t Sgfi. 

As bonnie lasses I hae seen, 

And mony full as braw, 
But tor a modest gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 



* This composition was the first of my perform- 
ances, and donr at an early period of life, when 
my heart glowed with honest warm simplicity ; unac- 
quainted, and uncorrupted with the Ways of a wicked 
world. The performance is, indeed, very puerile 
and silly; but I am always pleased with it, as it re- 
cals to my mind tho^e happy days when my heart 
was yet honest, ai d my tongue was sincere. The 
subject of it was a young girl who really deserved 
all the praises I have bestowed on her. I not only 
had this opinion of her then— but I actually think so 
still, now that the spell is long since broken, and the 
enchantment at an end. Burns' Reliques, p. 318. 



458 BURNS' POEMS. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, 

And what is best of a', 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 

Both decent and genteel : 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars ony dress look weel. 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart, 
But it's innocence and modesty 

That polishes the dart. 

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis this enchants my soul; 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without control. 

Fal lal de ral, 4c 



SONGS. 



SONGS. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.* 



Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are covered wV snato, 

Tm sure it's winter fairly, 

COLD blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 

A* day they fare but sparely ; 
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Up in the morning, &c. 



* The chorus is old. 



Y 3 



BURNS* POEMS; 



SONG. 



I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE 
SPRINGING.* 



I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing. 

Gaily iD the sunny beam ; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing, 

By a falling, crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were waning, 

O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming 

A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'd. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill; 
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



* These two stanzas I composed when I was seven- 
teen, and are among the oldest of my printed pieces. 
Burns 1 Reliques, p. 242. 



SONGS. 463 

SONG* 

BEWAUE O' BONIE ANN. 

YE gallants bright I red you right, 

Beware o' bonie Ann; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan; 
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, grace, and love attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van: 
In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands, 

But love enslaves the man ; 
Ye gallants braw, 1 red you a', 

Beware o' bonie Ann. 



* T composed this song out of compliment to Miss 
Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend Allan 
Masterton, the author of the air of Strathallan's La- 
ment, and two or three others in this work. 

Burns' Reliques, p. 266. 



464 BURNS' POEMS; 



MY BONNIE MARY.* 

GO fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie; 
The boat rocks at the pier o* Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun lea'e my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar, 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



* This air is Oswald's ; the first half-stanza of the 
song is old. 



SONGS. 463 

SONG. 

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.* 

THERE'S a youth in this city, it were a great pity, 

That he from our lasses should wander awa : 
For he's bonie and biaw, weel-favour'd with a', 

And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue; 

His feckett is white as the new-driven snaw; 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, 

And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
His coat is the hue, &c. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin ; 

Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel mounted and 
braw; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gaug till her, 

The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. — 
There's Meg wi' the mailen, that fain wad ahaen him, 

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, 

— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'. 



* This air is claim'd by Neil Gow, who calls it his 
lament for his brother. The first half-stanza of the 
song is old. 

t Fecket—an under-waistcoat with sleeves. 



466 BURNS' POEMS; 



MY HEARTs IN THE HIGHLANDS* 

MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ; 
"Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below : 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, 
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer : 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 



* The first half-stauza is old. 



SONGS. 4G7 

SONG.* 

THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T. 

O WHA my babie.clouts will buy? 
Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. — 

"Wha will own he did the faut ? 
Wha will buy my groanin-maut? 
Wha will tell me how to ca't ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. — 

When I mount the creepie-chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there? 
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair, 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. — 

Wha will crack to me my lane? 
Wha will mak me fidgin fain? 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? 
The xantin dog the daddie o't. — 



* I composed this song pretty early in life, and 
sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance 
of mine, who was at that time under a cloud. 

Burns' Rdiques, p. 278. 



468 BURNS' POEMS ; 

SONG* 

CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.t 



Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 

And O to be lying beyond thee, 
O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep, 

That's laid in the bed beyond thee. 

SWEET closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood, 

And blithely awakens the morrow ; 
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-wood, 

Can yield me to nothing but sorrow, 
Beyond thee, %c. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

I hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me, 

While care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, %c. 



* It is remarkable of this air, that it is the confine 
of that country where the greatest part of our Low- 
land music (so far as from the title, words, &c. we 
can localize it) has been composed. From Craigie- 
burn, near Moffat, until one reaches the West High- 
lands, we have scarcely one slow air of any antiquity. 

The song was composed on a passion which a Mr. 
Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss 
Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale. The young 
lady was born at Craigie-burn-wood.— The chorus is 
part of an old foolish ballad. 

Burns' Reliques, p. 234. 

t The chorus is old. — Another copy of this will be 
found, ante, p. 327. 



SONGS. 4G9 



I canna tell, I maun na tell, 

I dare na for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I coDceal it langeF. 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 
I see thee sweet and bonie, 

But oh, what will my torments be, 
If thou refuse thy Johnie 1 
Beyond thee, <fcc. 

To see thee in anither's arms, 
In love to lie and languish, 

Twad be my dead, that will be seen,. 
My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, fyc. 

But Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, 
Say, thou lo'es nane befora me ; 

And a* my days o' life to come 
I'll gratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, %c f 



470 BURNS' POEMS; 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE 
FAIR* 



I DO confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs in luve ; 
Had I na found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak, thy heart could mure. 

I do confess thee sweet, but find 
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 

Thy favours are the silly wind 
That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, 

Amang its native briers sae coy, 
How sune it tines its scent and hue 

"When pu'd and worn a common toy? 

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide, 
Tho' thou may gaily bloom a while ; 

Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside, 
Like ony common weed and vile. 



* This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert 
Ayton, private secretary to Mary and Anne, queens 
of Scotland. — The poem is to be found in James 
"Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, the earliest col- 
lection printed in Scotland. — I think that I have im- 
proved the simplicity of the sentiments, by giving 
them a Scots dress. - Burns 1 Reliques, p. 2y£, 



SONGS. 471 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 



YON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o* the Clyde, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather 

to feed. 
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his 

reed: 

Where the grouse, <£c. 

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, and sequester'd stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang thae wild mouutains shall still be my path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath ; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 
While o'er us unheeded, flie the swift hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair ; 
O' nice education but sma* is her share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be; 
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 

To beauty -what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs; 
And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts, 
They dazzle our eeu, as they flie to our hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling 

e'e, 
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms, 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms ! 



472 BURNS' POEMS; 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER 
DOOR? 



WHA is that at my bower door ? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate ye'se nae be here! 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

G if I rise and let you in ? 

Let me in, quo' Findlay; 
Ye'll k?ep me waukin wi' your din; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my jower if ye should stay ? 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain, 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay; 
I dread ye'll learn the gate again; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ; 
What may pass within this bower, 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ! 



SONGS. 473 

SONG* 

Tune, * The Weaver and his Shuttle, O.' 

MY Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, O 
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O 
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a 

farthing, O 
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth 

regarding, O. 

Then out into the world my course I did deter- 
mine., O 

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great 
was charming, O 

My talents they were not the worst; nor yet my 
education : O 

Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situ- 
ation, O. 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's 

favour; O 
Some cause unseen- still stept between, to frustrate 

each endeavour; O 
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; sometimes by 

friends forsaken ; O 
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst 

mistaken, O. 



* This song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient 
in versification, but as the sentiments are the genuine 
feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a parti- 
cular pleasure in conning it over. 

Burns' Reliques, p, 329. 



4T4 BURNS* POEMS; 

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's 

vain delusion; O 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to 

this conclusion; O 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill 

untried; O 
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would 

enjoy it, O. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I; nor person to 

befriend me ; O 
So I must Coil, and sweat and broil, and labour to 

sustain me, O 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred 

me early; O 
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for 

fortune fairly, O. 

Thus all obscmre, unknown, and poor, thro' life Fm 
doom'd to wander, O 

Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slum- 
ber ; O 

No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me 
pain or sorrow; O 

I live to-day, as well's I may, regardless of to-mor- 
row, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well, as a monarch in a 

palace, O 
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her 

wonted malice; O 
I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne'er can make it 

farther; O 
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard 

her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O 
Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon 
rae; O 



SONGS. 475 

Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good- 

natur'd folly ; O 
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be 

melancholy, O. 

All you who follow wealth and power with unremit- 
ting ardour, O 

The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your 
view the farther; O 

Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore 
you, O 

A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before 
you, O. 



SONG. 



THO' cruel fate should bid us part, 

As far's the pole and line; 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 

Tho' mountains frown and deserts howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 



476 BURNS' POEMS; 



SOISG. 



AE fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans 1*11 wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy: 
But to see her, was to love her; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met— or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in keart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 



i 



SONGS. 47T 



SONG. 

NOW BANK AN* BRAE ARE CLAITH'D IN 
GREEN. 



NOW bank an' brae are claith'd in green 

An* scattered cowslips sweetly spring, 
By Girvan's faity haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing, 
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, 

There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
There catch her ilka glance of love, 

The bonie blink o' Mary's e'e! 

The child wha boasts o' warld's walth, 

Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain, 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks 3 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me, 
And catch her ilka glance o' love, 

The bonie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 



473 BURNS' POEMS; 



THE BONIE LAD THATS FAR 
AW A. 



O HOW can I be blithe and glad, 
Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 

When the bonie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 

It's no the frosty winter wind, 
It's no the driving drift and snaw; 

But ay the tear comes in my e'e. 
To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door, 
My friends they hae disown'd me a', 

But I hae ane will tak my part, 
The bonie lad that's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gave to me, 
And silken snoods* he gave me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
The bonie lad that's far awa. 

The weary winter soon will pass, 
And spring will deed the birken-shaw; 

And my sweet babie will be born, 
And he'll come hame that's far awa. 



*■ Ribands for binding the hair. 



SONGS. 470 



SONG. 



OUT over the Forth I look to the north, 
But what is the north and its Highlands to me? 

The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea* 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 



PLL AY CA IN BY YON TOWN. 



I'LL ay ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again ; 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 
And see my bonie Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess, 
What brings me back the gate again, 

But she., my fairest faithfu' lass, 
And stownlins* we sail meet again. 



* Stownlins—By stealth. 

Z2 



480 BURNS' POEMS; 

She'll wander by the aiken tree, 
"When trystin-time* draws near again ; 

And when her lovely form I see, 
O haith, she's doubly dear again ! 



WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE OT. 



FIRST when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bpnie Meg was nature's child — 
— Wiser men thau me's beguil'd; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 

How we live, my Meg and me,. 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write— but Meg maun see't— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't, — 



* Trystin-time— The time of appointment. 



SONGS. 431 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 



YOUNG Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,* 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'd my e'en sae bonie blue, 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma; 
An' ay my heart came to my mou, 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw ; 
*Aud o'er the lee 1 leuk fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca\ 
An 5 ay the night comes round agaiu, 

When in his arms he taks me a' ; 
An' ay he vows he'll be my ain 

As lang's he has a breath to draw. 



* The Gaud—at the Plough. 



BURNS' POEMS; 



MCPHERSON'S FAREWELL. 



FAREWELL ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie ! 
M'Pherson's time will not be long, 

On yonder gallows tree. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he; 
He played a spring and danc'd it round, 

Below the gallozvs tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath ? — 

On mony a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 
Sae rant ingly, 4c 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 

And bring to me my sword ; 
And there's no a man in all Scotland, 

But I'll brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly , &,c. 

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart . 

And not avenged be. 
Sae rantingly, 8$p. 

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright. 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his name, 

The wretch that dares not die ! 
Sae rantingly, #,c. 



SONGS. 483 



SONG. 



HERE'S, a bottle and an honest friend i 

"What wad ye wish for mair, man ? 
Wha kens, before his life may end, 

"What his share may be of care, man ? 
Then catch the moments as they fly, 

And use them as ye ought, man : 
Believe me, happiness is shy, 

And comes not ay when sought, man, 



SONG: 

Tune, ' Braes o' Balquhidder.* 



Til kiss thee yet, yet, 

An' Til kiss thee o'er again, 
Art Til kiss thee yet, yet, 

My bonie Peggy Alison ! 



ILK care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, O ; 
Young kings upon their hansel throne 

Are do sae blest as I am, O ! 
Til kiss thee, %c. 



484 BURNS* POEMS; 

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, O; 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, 01 
Til kiss thee, %c. 

And by thy e'en, sae bonie blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever, O ;— 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, 5 
I'll kiss thee, S^c, 



SONG. 

Tune, ' If he be a Butcher neat and trim. ' 

ON Cessnock banks there lives a lass, 
Could I describe her shape and mien| 

The graces of her weelfar'd face, 
And the glanciu' of her sparkliu' e'en, 

She's fresher than the morning dawn 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

When dewdrops twinkle o'er the lawn , 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

She's stately like yon youthful ash, 
That grows the cowslip braes between, 

And shoots its head above each bush : 
An* she's twa glancin* sparklin* e'en. 



SONGS. 485 

She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn 

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, 

When .purest in the dewy morn ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 
When flow'ry May adorns the scene, 

That wantons round its bleating dam ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 
That shades the mountain-side at e'en, 

When flow'r-reviving rains are past ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow., 

When shining sunbeams intervene 
And gild the distant mountain's brow; 

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her voice is like the ev'mng thrush 
That sings in Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her lips are like the cherries ripe,, 
That sunny walls from Boreas screen, 

They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin e'en. 

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep. 

With fleeces newly washen clean, 
That slowly mount the rising steep; 

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the Nnssom'd bean, 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; 
An' she's twa' glancin' sparklin e'en. 
Z 3 



486 BURNS' POEMS; 

But it's not her air, her form, her face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 

But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace, 
An' chiefly in her sparklin' e'en. 



WAE IS MY HEART. 



WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e; 
lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me : 
Forsaken and friendjbess my burden I bear, 
Aud the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 

Xove, thou hast pleasures; and deep hae I loved; 
love, thou hast sorrows ; and sair hae I proved : 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast^ . 
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 

O if I were, where happy I hae been ; 
Pown by yon stream and yon bonie castle green: 
For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, 
"Wlia wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's e'e« 



SONGS. 

SONG. 

Tune, ' Banks of Banna.' 

YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na'; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress or Sultana, 
"While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray 

When I'm to meet my Anna, 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' ; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 



BURNS' POEMS; 



SONG.* 



THE Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ; 

And ilka wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun, 
" We wish you luck o' the prize man. 

u We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink, 
" We'll dance and sing and rejoice man; 

" And mony thanks to the muckle black Beil 9 
" That danc'd area zvi' the Exciseman* 

" There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, 
* There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man; 

" But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian', 
" Was— the Deil's awa wi* the Exciseman. 
* We'll mak our maut, S$c." 



SONG, 



POWERS celestial, whose protection 
Ever guards the virtuous fair, 

While in distant climes I wander, 
Let my Mary be your care : 



* At a meeting of his brother Excisemen in Dum- 
fries, Burns being called upon for a Song, handed 
these verses extempore to the President, written on 
the back of a letter. 



SONGS. 489 

Let her form sae fair and faultless, 

Fair aud faultless as your own; 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit, 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her, 

Soft and peaceful as her breast; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Sooth her bosom into rest : 
Guardiau angels, O protect her, 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me. 

Make her bosom still my home.* 



HUNTING SONG, 

I RED YOU BEWARE AT THE HUNTING. 



THE heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn* 
Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn, 
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen, 
At length they discovered a bonie moor-hen. 

I red you beware at the hunting, young men , 
I red you beware at the hunting, young men ; 
Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring, 
But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen. 



* Probably written on Highland Mary, on the eve 
of the Poet's departure to the West Indies. 



490 BURNS* POEMS; 

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather bells, 
Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells ; 
Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring, 
And O ! as she wantoned gay on the wing. 
I red, #c. 

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the hill J 
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill; 
He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae — 
His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she 
lay. 

I red, %a* 

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill ; 
The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill; 
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 
Then, whirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. — 
I red, %c. 



YOUNG PEGGY. 



YOUNG Peggy blooms our boniest lass, 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With early gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each freshening flower. 



SONGS* 491 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has grac'd them, 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them : 
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild, 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her, 
As blooming Spring unbends the brow 

Of surly, savage Winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And fretful envy grins in vain, 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and Truth, 

From ev'ry ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly favour'd youth 

The destinies iutend her; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom.* 



* This was one of the Poet's earliest compositions. 
It was copied from a MS. book, which he had before 
his first publication. 



4Q2 BURNS' POEMS; 

SONG. 

Tune, ' The King of France, he rade a Race.' 



AMANG the trees where humming bees 

At tuds and flowers were hinging, O 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone, 

And to her pipe was singing; O 
'Twas Pibroch,* sang, strathspey, or reels, 

She dirl'd them aff, fu' clearly, O 
"When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels. 

That dang her tapsakeerie, 0— 

Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, 

They made our Jugs grow eerie, O 
The hungry hike did scrape and pike 

Till we were wae and weary; O — 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa, 
He fir'd a fiddler in the North 

That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 



* Pibroch— A Highland war song, adapted to the 
agpipe. 



SONGS. 493 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 



Tune, * John Anderson my Jo.' 

ONE night as I did wander, 

When corn begins to shoot, 
T sat me down to ponder, 

Upon an auld tree root : 
Auld Aire ran by before me, 

And bicker'd to the seas; 
A cushat* crowded o'er me 

That echoed thro' the braes. 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 

Tune, ' Daintie Davie.' 

THERE was a lad was born at Kyle,t 
But what na day o' -what na style 
I doubt its hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Robin was a roviri* Boy, 
Rantirt rovin\ rantin 1 roviri* ; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy t 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 



* The dove, or wild pigeou. 
t Kylc—& district of Ayrshire. 



494 BURNS' POEMS; 

Our monarch's hindmost year but aue 
Was five-and-twenty days beguu, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar Win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof, 
Quo' scho wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But ay a heart aboon them a'; 
He'll be a credit till us a', 
"We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith quo' scho I doubt you, Sir, 
Ye gar the lasses * * * * 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur 
So blessin's on thee, Robin I 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' fooin', rantirC rovin* ; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
RantirC rovin' Robin. 



SONGS. 
SONG.— FRAGMENT. 

Tune, ' I had a Horse and I had nae mair.' 



WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was nae steady, 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade 

A mistress still I had ay: 

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town, 

Not dreadin' any body, 
My heart was caught before I thought, 

And by a Mauchline lady. 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 

Tune, ■ Gallawater.' 

ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir, 
Amaug the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be 
Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. — 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and rainy; 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy,— 



196 BURNS' POEMS; 

Were I a Baron proud and high, 

And horse aDd servants waiting ready, 

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 
The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy.- 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 



O RAGING fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low! O 
O raging fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low ! O. 
My stem was fair, my bud was green, 

My blossom sweet did blow; O 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 

And made my branches grow; O* 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 



SONGS. 497 

SONG. 

PATRIOTIC— unfinished. 



HERE'S a health to them that's awa, 
HereVa health to them that's awa ; 
And wha winna -wish guid luck to our cause, 
May never guid luck be their fa' !* 

It's guid to be merry and wise, 
It's guid to be honest and true, 
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, ' 

Here's a health to them that's awa; 

Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma\ 

May liberty meet wi' success ! 

May prudence protect her frae evil ! 

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to Tammie, the Borland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law! 

Here's freedom to him that wad read, 

Here's freedom to him that wad write ! 

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be 

heard, 
But they wham the truth wad indite. 

* JPa'— lot. 



498 BURNS' POEMS; 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to thein that's awa, 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth gowd, 

Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 



SONG.-FRAGMENT. 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 



AS I was a wand'ring ae morning in spring, 
I heard a young Ploughman sae sweetly to sing, 
And as he was siugin' thir words he did say, 
There's nae life like the Ploughman in the month o* 
sweet May. — 

The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest, 
And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast, 
And wi' the merry Ploughman she'll whistle and sing, 
And at night she'll return to her nest back again. 



songs. igo 



SONG.— FRA GMENT. 



HER flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing; 

How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
O, what a feast, her bonie mou ! 

Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner. 



BALLAD.— FRAGMENT. 

TO thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
"Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd, 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd. — 

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear; 

For there he rov'd that brake my heart, 
Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear! 



500 



BURNS' POEMS. 



SONG.— FRAGMENT. 



THE winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last, 
And the small birds sing on every tree;; 

Now every thing is glad, while T am very sad, 
Since my true love is parted from me. 

The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear,, 
May have charms for the linnet or the bee; 

Their little ioves are blest, and their little hearts at 
rest, 
Eut my true love is parted from me. 



THE END. 



J. M'Creery, Printer, 
Black-Horse-Court, London. 



GLOSSARY. 



% A 



GLOSSARY. 



THE ch and gh have always the guttural sound. The 
sound of the English diphthong oo, is commonly 
spelled ou. The French u, a sound which often 
occurs in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or 
ui. The a in genuine Scottish words, except when 
forming a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after 
a single consonant, sounds generally like the broad 
English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong ae, al- 
ways, and ea, very often, sound like the French e 
masculine. The Scottish diphthong ey, sounds like 
the Latin ei. 



A. 

A, All. 

Aback, away, aloof. 

Abeigh, at a shy distance. 

Aboon, above, up. 

Abrcad, abroad, in sight. 

Abrced, iu breadth. 

Ae, one. 

Aff, off; Affloof, unpre- 
meditated. 

Afore, before. 

Aft, oft. 

A/ten, often. 

Agley, off the right line, 
wrong. 

Aiblins, perhaps. 

Ain, own. 

Airl-penny i, earnest-mo- 
ney. 



Aim, iron, 
Aith, an oath. 
Aits, oats. 
Aiver, an old horse. 
Aizle, a hot cinder. 
Alake, alas! 
Alane, alone. 
Akwart, awkward. 
Amaist, almost.,, 
Amang, among. 
ArC, aud, if. 
Ance, once. 
An e, one, and. 
Anent, over against. 
Anither, another. 
Ase, ashes. 

Asklent, asquint, aslant. 
Asteer, abroad, stirring. 
Athart, athwart. 
A2 



504 



GLOSSARY. 



Aught, possession; as, in 
a' my aught, in all my 
possession. 

Auld lang syne, older 
time, days of other 
years. 

Auld, old. 

Auldfarr an, or auld far- 
rant, sagacious, cun- 
ning, prudent. 

Ava, at all. 

Awa 1 , away. 

Au-fu?, awful. 

Awn, the beard of barley, 
oats, &c. 

Awnie, bearded. 

Ayont, beyond. 

B. 
BA', Ball. 
Backets, ash boards. 
Backlins, comin', coming 

back, retumiug. 
Bad, did bid. 
Baide., endured, did stay. 
Baggie, the belly. 
Bainie, having large 

boues, stout. 
Bair?i, a child. 
Bairntime, a family of 

children, a brood. 
Baith, both. 
Ban, to swear. 
Bane, bone. 

Bang, to beat, to strive. 
Bardie, diminutive of 

bard. 
Barefit, barefooted. 
Barmie, of, or like barm. 
Batch, a crew, a gang. 
Batts, botts. 
Baudrons, a cat. 
Bauld, bold. 
Bawk, bank. 
Baws'nt, having a white 

stripe down the face. 
Be, to let be, to give 
over t o cease. 



Bear, barley. 

Beastie, dimin. of beast. 

Beet, to add fuel to fire. 

Beld, bald. 

Beiyve, by and by. 

Ben, into the spence of 
parlour. 

Benlomond, a noted 
mountain in Dumbar- 
tonshire. 

Bethankit, grace after 
meat. 

Beuk, a book. 

Bicker, a kind of wooden 
dish, a short race. 

Bie, or Bitld, shelter. 

Bien, wealthy, plenti- 
ful. 

Big, to build, 

Biggin, building, a 
house. 

Biggit, built. 

Bill, a bull. 

Billie , a brother, a young 
fellow. 

Bing, a heap of grain, 
potatoes, &c. 

Birk, birch. 

Birkenshaw, Birchen- 
wGod-shaw, a smaH 
wood. 

Birkie, a clever fellow. 

Birring, the noise of par- 
tridges, &c. when they 
spring. 

Bit, crisis, nick of time. 

Bizz, a bustle, to buzz. 

Blast ie, a shrivelled 
dwarf, a term of con- 
tempt. 

Blastit, blasted. 

Blate, bashful, sheepish. 

Blather, b'udder. 

Bland, a flat piece of any 
thing ; to slap. 

Blaw, to blow, to boast. 

Bleerit, bleared, sore-.fith 
rheum. 



GLOSSARY. 



005 



Bleert and blin, bleared 
and blind. 

Bleezing, blazing. 

Blellum, idle talking fel- 
low. 

Blether, to talk idly, non- 
sense. 

Bleth'rin. talking idly. 

Blink, a little while, a 
smiling look, to look 
kindly, to shine by fits. 

Blinker, a terra of con- 
tempt. 

Blinkin, smirkiu. 

Blue-gown, one of those 
beggars who get annu- 
ally, on the king's birth- 
day, a blue cloak or 
gown, with a badge. 

Bluid, blood. 

Bluntie, snivelling. 

Blype, a shred, a large 
piece. 

Bock, to vomit, to gush 
intermittently. 

Booked, gushed, vomit- 
ed. 

Bodle, a small gold coin. 

Bogles, spirits, hobgob- 
lins. 

Bonnie, or bonny, hand- 
some., beautiful. 

Bonnockj a kind of thick 
cake of bread, a small 
jaunack, or loaf made 
of oatmeal. 

Boord, a board. 

Boortree, the shrub elder ; 
planted much of old in 
hedges of barn-yards, 
&c. 

Boost, behoved, must 
needs. 

Bore, a hole in the wall. 

Botch, an angry tumour. 

Bouk, vomiting, gushing 
out. 



Bousing, drinking". 

Bow-kail, cabbage. 

Bout, bended, crooked. 

Brachens, fern. 

Brae, a declivity, a pre- 
cipice, the slope of a 
hill. 

Braid, broad. 

Bragint, reel'd forward. 

Braik, a kind of harrow. 

Brainge, to run rashly 
forward. 

Brak, broke, made insol- 
vent. 

Branks, a kind of wooden 
curb for horses. 

Brash, a suddeu illness. 

Brats, coarse clothes, 
rags, &c. 

Brattle, a short race, 
hurry, fury. 

Brav, fine, handsome. 

Brarvlyt, or brawlie, very 
well, finely, heartily. 

Braxie, a morbid sheep. 

Breastie, diminutive of 
breast. 

Breastit, did spring up 
or forward. 

Breckan, fern. 

Breef, an invulnerable or 
irresistible spell. 

Breeks, breeches. 

Brent, smooth. 

Brewin, brewing. 

Brie, juice, liquid. 

Brig, a bridge. 

Brunstane, brimstone. 

Brisket, the breast, the 
bosom. 

Brit her, a brother. 

Brock, a badger. 

Brogue, a hum, a trick, 

Broo, broth, liquid, water. 

Broose, broth ; a race at 
country weddings, who 
shall first reach the 



506 



GLOSSARY. 



bridegroom's house on 
returning from church. 

Brugh, a burgh. 

Bruilzie, a broil, a com- 
bustion. 

Brunt, did bum, burnt. 

Brust, to burst, burst. 

Buchan-bullers, the boil- 
ing of the sea among 
the rocks on the coast 
of Buchan. 

Buckskin, an inhabitant 
of Virginia. 

Bught, a pen. 

Bughtin-time, the time 
of collecting the sheep 
in the pens to be milk- 
ed. 

Buirdly, stout-made, 
broad-made. 

Bum-clock, a humming 
beetle that flies in the 
summer evenings. 

Bumming, humming as 
bees. 

Bummle, to blunder. 

Bummler, a blunderer. 

Bunker, a window-seat. 

Bur dies, diminutive of 
birds. 

Bure, did bear. 

Burn, water, a rivulet. 

Burnewin, i. e. bum the 
wind, a blacksmith. 

Burnie, dimin. of burn. 

Buskie, bushy. 

Buskit, dressed. 

Busks, dresses. 

Busle, a bustle, to bustle. 

Buss, shelter. 

But, bot, with. 

But an' ben, the country 
kitchen and parlour. 

By himself, lunatic, dis- 
tracted. 

Byke, a bee-hive. 

Byre, a cow-stable, a 
shippen. 



C. 



CA\ To call, to name, to 
drive. 

CoCt, or ccCd, called, dri- 
ven, calved. 

Cadger, a carrier. 

Cadie, or caddie, a per- 
son, a young fellow. 

Caff, chaff. 

Caird, a tinker. 

Cairn, a loose heap of 
stones. 

Calf-ward, a small enclo- 
sure for calves. 

Callan, a boy. 

Caller, fresh, sound, re- 
freshing. 

Canie, or cannie, gentle, 
mild, dexterous. 

Cannilie, dexterously, 
gently. 

Cantie, or canty, cheer- 
ful, merry. 

Cantraip, a charm, a 
spell. 

Cap-stane, cope-stone, 
key-stone, 

Careerin, cheerfully. 

Carl, an old man. 

Carlin, a stout old wo- 
man. 

Cartes, cards. 

Caudron, a caldron. 

Cauk and keel, chalk and 
red clay, 

Cauld, cold. 

Caup, a wooden drinking- 
vessel. 

Cesses, taxes. 

Chanter, a part of a bag- 
pipe. 

Chap, a person, a fellow, 
a blow. 

Chaup, a stroke, a blow. 

Cheekit, cheeked. 

Cheep, a chirp, to chirp. 

Chiel, or cheel, a young 
fellow. 



GLOSSARY. 



5©T 



Chimla, or chimlie, a 
fire-grate, a fire-place. 

Chimla-lug, the fire-side. 

Chittering, shivering, 
trembling . 

Chockin, choking. 

Chow, to chew ; cheek for \ 
chow, side by side. 

Chuffie, fat-faced. 

Clachan, a small village 
about a church, a ham- 
let. 

Claise, or claes, clothes. 

Claith, cloth. 

Claithing, clothing. 

delivers, nonsense, not 
speaking sense. 

Clap, clapper of a mill. 

Clarkit, wrote. 

Clash, an idle tale, the 
story of the day. 

Clatter, to tell little idle 
stories ; an idle story. 

Claught, snatched at, laid 
hold of. 

Claut, to clean, to scrape. 

Clauted, scraped. 

Clavers, idle stories. 

Claw, to scratch. 

Cleed, to clothe. 

Cleeds, clothes. 

Cleekit, having caught. 

Clinkin, jerking, clinking. 

Clinkumbell, who rings 
the church-bell. 

Clips, sheers. 

Clishmaclaver, idle con- 
versation. 

Clock, to hatch, a beetle. 

Clockin, hatching. 

Cloot, the hoof of a cow, 

sheep, &c. 
Clootie, an old name for 

the Devil. 
Clour, a bump or swell- 
ing after a blow. 
CludSj clouds. 



Coaxin, wheedling. 

Coble, a fishing boat. 

Cockernony, a lock of hair 
tied upon a girl's head ; 
a cap. 

Cqft, bought. 

Cog, a wooden dish. 

Coggie, dimin. of cog. 

Coila, from Kyle, a dis- 
trict of Ayrshire; so 
called, saith tradition, 
from Coil, or Coil us, a 
Pictish monarch. 

Collie, a general, and 
sometimes a particular, 
name for country curs. 

Collieshangie, quarrel- 
ling. • 

Commaun, command. 

Good, the cud. 

Coof, a blockhead, a nin- 

Cookit, appeared, and dis- 
appeared by fits. 

Coost, did cast. 

Coot, the ancle or foot. 

Cootie, a wooden kitchen 
dish -.—also those fowls, 
whose legs are clad 
with feathers, are said 
to be cootie. 

Corbies, a species of the 
crow. 

Core, corps, party, clan. 

Corn't, fed with oats. 

Cotter, the inhabitant of 
a cot-house, or cot- 
tage. 

Couthie, kind, loving. 

Cove, a cove. 

Cowe, to terrify, to keep 
under, to lop ; a fright; 
a branch of furze, broom, 
&c. 

Cowp, to barter, to tum- 
ble over, a gang. 

Cowpit, tumbled. 



5m 



GLOSSARY. 



Cowrin, cowering. 
Cowte, a colt. 

Cozie, snug. 

Cozily, snugly. 

Crabbit, crabbed, fret- 
ful. 

Crack, conversation, to 
converse. 

Crackin, conversing. 

Craft, or croft, a field 
near a house (in old 
husbandry J. 

Craiks, cries or calls in- 
cessantly, a bird. 

Crambo-clink, or cram- 
boy ingle, rhymes, dog- 
grel verses. 

Crank, the noise of an 
ungreased wheel. 

Crankous, fretful, capti- 
ous. 

Cranreuch, the hoar 
frost. 

Crap, a crop, to crop. 

Craw, a crow of a cock, 
a rook. 

Creel, a basket ; to have 
one's wits in a creel, to 
he craz'd, to be fascin- 
ated. 

Creeshie, greasy. 

Crood, or croud, to coo 
as a dove 

Croon, a hollow and con- 
tinued moan; to make 
a noise like the conti- 
nued roar of a bull; to 
hum a tune. 

Crooning, humming. 

Crouchie, crook-backed. 

Crouse, cheerful, coura- 
geous. 

Crousely, cheerfully, cou- 
rageously. 

Crowdie, a composition 
of oat-meal and boiled 
water* sometimes from 



the broth of beef, mut- 
ton, &c. 

Crozodie-time, breakfast- 
time. 

Croulin, crawling. 

Crummock, a cow with 
crooked horns. 

Crump, hard and brittle ; 
spoken of bread. 

Crunt, a blow on the 
head with a cudgel. 

Cuif, a blockhead, a nin- 
ny* 

Cummock, a short staff 
with a crooked head. 

Curchie, a curtesy. 

Curler, a player at a game 
on the ice, practised in 
Scotland, called curl- 
ing. 

Curlie, curled, whose 
hair falls naturally in 
ringlets. 

Curling, a well known 
game on the ice. 

Curmurring, murmur- 
ing a slight rumbling 
noise. 

Curpin, the crupper, 

Cushat, the dove, or 
wood-pigeon. 

Cutty, short, a spoon 
broken in the middle. 

D. 

BABBIE, a father. 

Baffin, merriment, fool- 
ishness. 

Baft, merry, giddy, fool- 
ish. 

Baimen, rare, now and 
then ; daimen-icker, an 
ear of corn now and 
then. 

Bainty, pleasant, good- 
humoured, agreeable. 

Bales, plains, valleys. 



GLOSSATIY. 



$f® 



Darklins, darklin. 
Daud, to thrash, to abuse. 
Daur, to dare. 
Daurt, dared. 
Daurg, or daurk, a day's 

labour. 
Davoc, David. 
Dawd, a large piece. 
Dawtit, or dawtet, fon- 
dled, caressed. 
Dearies, dimiu. of dears. 
DearthfiC , dear. 
Deave, to deafen. 
Deil'ma-care! no matter ! 

for all that ! 
Deleerit, delirious. 
Descrive, to describe. 
Dight, r.o wipe, to clean 

corn from chaff. 
Dight, cleaned from chaff. 
Dight s, cleans. 
Ding, to worst, to push. 
Dinna, do not. 
Dirl, a slight tremulous 

stroke or pain. 
Dizzen, or diz'n, a dozen. 
Doited, stupified, hebe- 
tated. 
Dolt, stupified, crazied. 
Donsie, unlucky. 
Dool, sorrow ; to sing 
dool, to lament, to 
mourn. 
Doos, cloves. 
Dorty, saucy, nice. 
Douce, or dou^.e, sober, 

wise, prudent. 
Doucely, soberly, pru- 
dently. 
Dought, was or were 

able. 
Doup, backside. 
Doup-skelper, one that 

strikes the tail. 
Dour and din, sullen, 
sallow. 



3 A3 



Doure, stout, durable 

sullen, stubborn. 
Douser, more prudent. 
Dow, am or are able, 

can. 
Dowff, pithless, wanting 

force. 
Ddwie, worn with grief, 

fatigue, &c. half asleep. 
Downa, am or are not 

able, cannot. 
Doylt, stupid. 
Drap, a drop, to drop. 
Drapping, dropping. 
Dreep, to ooze, to drop, 
Dreigh, tedious, long 

about it. 
Dribble, drizzling, slaver. 
Drift, a drove. 
Droddum, the breech. 
Drone, part of a bag-pipe. 
Droop, rumpl't, that 

droops at the crupper. 
Droukit, wet. 
Drounting, drawling. 
Drouth, thirst, drought. 
Drucken, drunken. 
Drumly, muddy. 
Drummock, meal and 

water mixed; raw, 
Drunt, pet, sour humour. 
Dub, a small pond. 
Duds, rags, clothes. 
Duddie, ragged. 
Dung, worsted; pushed* 

driven. 
Dunted, beaten, boxed. 
Dush, to push as a ram, 

&c. 
Dusht, pushed by a ram 

ox, &c. 

E. 

E'E, the eye. 
E'en, the eyes. 
E\nin, evening. 



510 



GLOSSARY. 



Eerie, frighted, dreading 
spirits. 

Eild, old age. 

Elbuck, the elbow. 

Eldritch, ghastly, fright- 
ful. 

En', end. 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh. 

Eneugh, enough. 

Especial, especially. 

Ettle, to try, attempt. 

Eydent, diligent. 



FA\ fall, lot, to fall. 

Fa's, does fall, water-falls. 

FaddonCt, fathomed. 

Fat, a foe. 

Faem, foam. 

Faiket, unknown. 

Fairin, a fairin, a pre- 
sent. 

Fallow, fellow. 

Fand, did find. 

Fail, a cake of bread. 

Fash, trouble, care, to 
trouble, to care for. 

Fasht, troubled. 

Faster ecneen, Fastens 
Even. 

Fauld, a fold, to fold. 

Faulding, folding. 

Faut, fault. 

Fansont, decent, seemly, 

Feal, a field, smooth. - 

Fearfu\ frightful. 

Feart, frighted. 

Fiat, neat, spruce. 

Fecht, to fight. 

Fechtin, fighting. 

Feck, many, plenty. 

Fecket, waistcoat. 

Feckfu', large, brawny, 
stout. 

Feckless t puny, weak,, 
silly. 



Fcckly, weakly. 

Feg, a fig. 

Fcide, feud, enmity. 

Fell, keen, biting ; thfe 
flesh immediately under 
the skin ; a field pretty 
level, on the side or top 
of a bill. 

Fen, successful struggle, 
fight. 

Tend, to live comfortably. 

Ferlie, orferley, to won- 
der; a wonder; a term 
of contempt. 

Fetch, to pull by fits. 

Fecht, pulled intermit- 
tently. 

Fidge, to fidget. 

Fiel, soft, smooth. 

Fient, fiend, a petty oath. 

Fie?', sound, healthy ; a 
brother, a friend. 

Fisle, to make a rustling 
noise, to fidget, a bustle. 

Fit, a foot. 

Fittie-lan, the nearer 
horse of the hindmost 
pair in the plough. 

Fizz, to make a hissing 
noise, like fernienta* 
tion. 

Fla in en, flanne 1 . 

Fleech, to supplicate in a 
flattering manner. 

Fleech'd, supplicated. 

Fleechin, supplicating. 

Fleesh, a fleece. 

Fleg, a kick, a random 
blow. 

Fltther, to decoy by fair 
words. 

F/ctherin, flattering. 

FUy, to scare, to frighten. 

Flichter, to flutter, as 
young nestlings, whea 
their dam approaches. 



GLOSSARY. 



511 



Flickering, to meet, to 
encounter with. 

Minders, sherds, broken 
pieces, 

Flingin-tree, a piece of 
timber hung by way of 
partition between two 
horses in a stable; a 
flail. 

Flisk, to fret at the yoke. 

Flishit, fretted. 

Flitter, to vibrate like 
the wings of small birds. 

Flittering, fluttering, vi- 
brating. 

Flunkie, a servant in li- 
very. 

Foord, a ford. 

Forbears, forefathers. 

Forbye, besides. 

Forfairn, distressed, worn 
out, jaded. 

Forfoughten, fatigued. 

Forgather, to meet, to 
encounter with. 

Forgie, to forgive. 

Forjesket, jaded with fa- 
tigue. 

Fother, fodder. 

Fou\ full, drunk. 

Feughten, troubled, ha- 
rassed. 

Fouth, plenty, enough, 
or more tban enough. 

Foxjo, a bushel, &c. ; also 
a pitch-fork. 

Frae, from. 

Freath, froth. 

Frien\ friend. 

Fu\ full. 

Fud, the scut, or tail of 
the hare, coney, &c. 

Fuff, to blow intermit- 
tently. 

FujF t, did blow. 

Funnie, full of merri- 
ment. 



Fur, a furrow. 
Furm, a form, bench. 
Fyke, trifling cares; to. 

piddle, to be in a fuss 

about trifles. 
Fyle, to soil, to dirty. 
FyVt, soiled, dirted. 



GAB, the mouth; to 

speak boldly, or pertly. 
Gab<?r-lunzie, an old man. 
Gadsman, ploughboy, the 

boy that rides the horses 

in the plough. 
Gae, to go ; gaed, went; 

gaen, or gane, gone; 

gaun, going. 
Gaet, or gate, way, man- 
ner, road. 
Gang, to go, to walk. 
Gar , to make, to force to* 
GarH, forced to. 
Garten, a garter. 
Gash, wise, sagacious, 

talkative, to converse. 
Gashin, conversing, 
Gaucy, jolly, large. 
Gear, riches, goods of auy 

kind. 
Geek, to toss the head iu 

wantonness or scoru. 
Ged, a pike. 
Gentles^ great folks. 
Geordie, a guinea. 
Get, a child, a young 

one. 
Ghaist, a ghost. 
Gie, to give; gied, gave; 

gien, given, 
Giftie, dimin. of gift. 
Giglets, playful girls. 
Gillie, dimin. of gill. 
Gilpey, a half grown, half 

informed boy or girl^ 

a romping lad, a hoi* 

den. 



m*i 



GLOSSARY. 



Gimmer, an ewe from 
one to two years old. 

Gin, if, against. 

Gipsey, a young girl. 

Girn, to grin, to twist 
the features in rage, 
agony, &c. 

Girning, grinning. 

Gizz, a periwig. 

Glaikitt, inattentive, fool- 
ish. 

Glaive, a sword. 

Gawky, half-witted, fool- 
ish, romping. 

Glaizie, glittering, smooth 
like a glass. 

Glaund, aimed, snatch- 
ed. 

Gleck, sharp, ready. 

Gleg, sharp, ready. 

Gleib, glebe. 

Glen, dale, deep valley. 

Gley, a squint, to squint ; 
a gley, off at a side, 
wrong. 

Glib-gabbet, that speaks 
smoothly and readily. 

Glint, to peep. 

Glinted, peeped. 

Glintin, peeping. 

Gloamin, the twilight. 

Glowr, to stare, to look, 
a stare, a look. 

Glozvred, looked, stared. 

Gowan, the flower of the 
daisy, dandelion, hawk- 
weed, &c. 

Gowany, gowany glens, 
daisied, dales. 

Gowd, gold. 

Goxvff, the game of Golf; 
to stuike as the bat does 
the ball at golf. 

Gowff'd, struck. 

Gowk, a cuckoo, a term 
of contempt. 

Gowl, to howl. 



Grane, or grain, a groan, 
to groan. 

Grain y d and gaunted, 
groaned and grunted. 

Gixiining, groaning. 

Graip, a pronged instru- 
ment for cleaning sta- 
bles. 

Graith, accoutrements, 
furniture, dress, gear. 

Grannie, grandmother. 

Grape, to grope. 

Grapit, groped. 

Grat, wept, shed tears. 

Great, intimate, familiar. 

Gree, to agree ; to bear 
the gree, to be decided- 
ly victor. 

Gree't, agreed. 

Greet, to" shed tears, to 
weep. 

Greetin, crying, weeping. 

Grippet, catched, seized. 

Groat, to get the whistle 
of one's groat, to play 
a losing game. 

Gronsome, loathsomely, 
grim. 

Grozet, a gooseberry. 

Grumph, a grunt, to 
grunt, 

Grumphie, a sow. 

Grun\ ground. 

Grunstane, a grindstone, 

Gj^untle, , the phiz, a grunt- 
ing noise. 

Grunzie, mouth. 

Grushie, thick, of thriv- 
ing growth. 

Gude, the Supreme Be- 
ing ; good. 

Guid, good. 

Guid-moiming, good mor- 
row. 

Guid-e'en, gocd evening. 

Guidman and guidzvife, 
the master and mistress 



GLOSSARY. 



513 



of the house ; young 
guidman, a man newly 
married. 

Gully, or gullie, a large 
knife. 

Guidfather, guidmother, 
father in-law, and mo- 
ther-in-law. 

Gumlie, muddy. 

Gusty, tasteful. 

H. 

v HA\ hall. 

/ Ha y bible, the great bible 
that lies in the hall. 

Hue, to have. 

Haen, had, the parti- 
ciple. 

Haet, fient haet, a petty 
oath of negation ; no- 
thing. 

Haffet, the temple, the 
side of the head. 

Hafflins, nearly half, part- 
ly- 

Hag, a scar, or gulf in 
mosses, and moors. 

Haggis, a kind of pud- 
ding boiled in the sto- 
mach of a cow or sheep . 

Hain, to spare, to save. 

Hairid, spared. 

Hairst, harvest. 

Haith, a petty oath. 

Haivers, nonsense, speak- 
ing without thought. 

HaV, or hald, an abiding 
place. 

Hale, whole, tight, heal- 
thy. 

Haly, holy. 

Hame, home. 

Hallan, a particular par- ! 

tition-wall in a cottage, 

or more properly a seat 



©f turf at the outside. 



Hallowmas, Hallow-eve, 
the 31st of October. 

Hamely, homely, affable. 

Han 1 , or kauri , hand. 

Hap, an outer garment^ 
mantle, plaid, &c. to 
wrap, to cover, to hap. 

Happer, a hopper. 

Happing, hopping. 

Hap step ari loup, hop 
skip and leap. 

Harkit, hearkened. 

Ham, very coarse linen. 

Hash, a fellow that nei- 
ther knows how to dress 
nor act with propriety. 

Hastit, hastened. 

Haud, to hold. 

Haughs, now lying, rich 
lands ; valleys. 

Haurl, to drag, to peel. 

Haurlin, peeling. 

Haverel, a half witted 
person, half witted. 

Havins, good manners, 
decorum, good sense. 

Hawkie, a cow, properly 
one with a white face. 

Heapit, heaped. 

Healsome, healthful, 
wholesome. 

Hearse, hoarse. 

Hearst, hear it. 

Heather, heath. 

Hechl oh! strange. 

Hecht, promised to fore* 
tel something that is to 
be got or given; fore- 
told ; the thing foretold ; 
offered. 

Heckle, a board, in which 
are fixed a number of 
sharp pins, used in 
dressing hemp, flax, &c. 

Heeze, to elevate, to 
raise. 



51* 



GLOSSARY. 



Helm, the rudder or 
helm. 

Herd, to tend flocks, one 
■who tends flocks. 

Herrin, a herring. 

Herry, to plunder; most 
properly to plunder 
birds' nests. 

Herryment, plundering, 
devastation. 
^Herselj herself; also a 
herd of cattle, of any 
sort. 

Het, hot. 

Heugh, a crag, a coal- 
pit. 

Hitch, a hobble, to halt. 

Hilchin, halting. 

Himsel, himself. 

Hiney, honey. 

Hing, to hang. 

Hirple, to walk crazily, 
to creep. 

Hissel, so many cattle as 
one person can attend. 

Histie, dry, chapt, bar- 
ren. 

Hitcht, a loop, a knot. 

Hizzie, hussy, a young 
girl. 

Hoddin, the motion of a 
sage countryman rid- 
ing on a cart-horse; 
humble. 

Hog-score, a kind of dis- 
tance line, in curling, 
drawn across the rink. 

Hog-shouther, a kind of 
horse play, by justling 
■with the shoulder; to 
justle. 

Hool, outer skin or case, 
a nut-shell. pease-swade. 

Hoolie, slowly, leisurely. 

Hooiie I take leisure, 
stop. 

Hoord, a hoard; to hoard. 



Hoordit, hoarded. 

Horn, a spoon made of 
horn. 

Hornie, one of the many 
names of the devil. 

Host, or hoast, to cough. 

Hostin, coughing. 

Hosts, coughs. 

Hotctid, turn'd topsy- 
turvy, blended, mixed. 

Houghmagandie, forni- 
cation. 

Houlet, an owl. 

Housie, dimin. of house* 

Hove, to heave, to swell. 

Hov d, heaved, swelled. 

Howdie, a midwife. 

Howe, hollow, a hollow 
or dell. 

Howebackit, sunk in the 
back, spoken of a horse, 
&c. 

Howff, a landlady, a house 
of resort. 

Howk, to dig. 

Hozvkit, digged. 

Howkin, digging. 

Hozclet, an owl. 

Hoy, to urge. 

Hoy't, urged. 

Hoyse, a pull upwards. 

Hoyte, to amble crazily. 

Hi/ghoc, dimin. of Hugh, 

Hurcheon, a hedgehog. 

Hurdles, the loins, the 
crupper. 

Hushion, cushion. 

I. 

r, in. 

Icker, an ear of com. 

Jer-oe, a great-grandr- 

child. 
Ilk, or ilka, each, every. 
Ill willie, ill-natured, 

malicious, niggardly.. 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 



GLOSSARY. 



515 



Ingle, fire, fire-place. 
Ise, I shall or will. 
Ithcr, other, one another. 

J. 

JADj jade; also a fami- 
liar term among coun- 
try folks for a giddy 
young girl. 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle. 

Jaukin, trifling, dallying. 

Jaup, a jerk of water; to 
jeik as agitated water. 

Jaw, coarse raillery, to 
pour out, to shut, to jerk 
as water. 

Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl. 

Jimp, to jump, slender in 
the waist, handsome. 

Jink, to dodge, to turn a 
corner, a sudden turn- 
ing, a corner. 

Jinker, that turns quick- 
ly, a gay sprightly girl, 
a wag. 

Jinkin, dodging. 

J irk, a jerk. 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife. 

Jouk, to stoop, to bow 
the head. 

Jow, tojow, a verb which 
includes both the swing- 
ing motion and pealing 
sound of a large bell. 

Jundie, tojustle. 

K. 

KAE, a daw. 

Kail, colewart, a kind of 

broth. 
Kail-runt, the stem of 

colewort. 
Kain, fowls, &c. paid as 

rent by a farmer. 
Kebbuck, a cheese. 
Keek, a peep, to peep. 
Kelpies, a sort of mis- 



chievous spirits, said to 

haunt fords and ferries 

at night, especially in 

storms. 
Ken, to know; kend or 

ken't, knew. 
Kennin, a small matter. 
Kenspeckle, well known. 
Ket, matted, hairy, a 

fleece of wool. 
Kiaugh, carking, anxiety. 
Kilt, to truss up the 

clothes. 
Kimmer, a young girl, a 

gossip. 
Kin\ kindred. 
Kin\ kind. 
Kintra Cooser, country 

stallion. 
King's-hood, a certain 

part of the entrails of 

an ox, &c. 
Kintra, country. 
Kirn, the harvest supper, 

a churn. 
Kirsen, to christen, or 

baptize. 
Kist, chest, a shop coun- 
ter. 
Kitchen, any thing that 

eats with bread, to serve 

for soup, gravy, &c. 
Kith, kindred. 
Kittle, to tickle, ticklish, 

likely. 
Kittiin, a young cat, 
Kiuttle, to cuddle. 
Kiuttlin, cuddling. 
Knaggie, like knags, or 

points of rocks. 
Knappin, a hammer, a 

hammer for breaking 

stoues. 
Knowe, a small round 

hillock. 
Knurl, dwarf. 
Kye, cows. 



516 



GLOSSARY. 



Kyle, a district in Ayr- 
shire. 

Kyte, the belly. 

Kythe, to discover, to 
shew oneself. 



LADDIE, dimin. of lad. 

Laggen, the angle be- 
tween the side and 
bottom of a wooden 
dish. 

Laigh, low. 

Lairing, wading, and 
sinking in snow, mud, 
&c. 

Laith, loath, 

LaithfiC , bashful, sheep- 
ish. 

Lallans, Scottish dialect. 

Lambie, dimin. of lamb. 

Lampit, a kind of shell- 
fish. 

Lan\ land, estate. 

Lane, lone; my lane, 
thy lane, &c. myself 
alone. 

Lanely, lonely. 

Lang, long; to think 
lang, to long, to weary. 

Lap, did leap. 

Lave, the rest, the re- 
mainder, the others. 

Laverock, the lark. 

Lawin, shot, reckoning, 
bill. 

Lazvlan, lowland. 

Lea/e, to leave. 

Leal, loyal, true, faith- 
ful. 

Lea-rig, grassy ridge. 

Lear, (pronoun) lare, 
learning. 

Lee-lang, live-long, 

Leesome, pleasant, 

Leeze-me, a phrase of 
congratulatory endear- 



ment : I am happy in 
thee, or proud of thee. 

Leister, a three-pronged 
dart for striking fish. 

Leugh, did laugh. 

Leuk, a look, to look. 

Libbet, gelded. 

Lift, sky. 

Lightly, sneeringly, to 
sneer at. 

Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to 
sing. 

Limmer, a kept mistress, 
a strumpet. 

LimpH, limped, hobbled. 

Link, to trip along, 

Linkin, trippin. 

Linn, a waterfall, preci- 
pice. 

Lint, flax ; lint i y the bell, 
flax in flower. 

Lintwhite, a linnet. 

Loan, or loanin, the place 
of milking. 

Loqf, the palm of the 
hand. 

Loot, did let. 

Looves, plural of loaf. 

Loun, a fellow, a raga- 
muffin, a woman of easy 
virtue. 

Loup, jump, leap. 

Lowe, a flame. 

Lozcin, flaming 

Lowrie, abbreviation of 
Lawreuce. 

Lowse, to loose. 

Lows d loosed. 

Lug, the ear, a handle. 

Lugget, having a handle. 

Luggie, a small wooden 
dish with a handle. 

Lum, the chimney. 

Lunch, a large piece of 
cheese, flesh, &c. 

Lunt, a column of smoke; 
to smoke.\ 



GLOSSARY. 



SiT 



Luntin, smoking. 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, 
grey. 

M. 

MAE, more. 

Mair, more. 

Maist, most, almost. 

Maistly, mostly. 

Mak, to make. 

Makin, making. 

Mailen, farm. 

Mallie, Molly. 

Mang, among. 

Manse, the parsonage- 
house, where the mi- 
nister lives. 

Manteele, a mantle. 

Mark, marks. (This and 
several other nouns 
which in English re- 
quire an s, to form the 
plural, are in Scotch, 
like the words sheep, 
deer, the same in both 
numbers. J 

Mar's year, the year 
1715. 

Mashlum, meslin, mixed 
corn. 

Mask, to mash, as malt, 
&c. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot. 

Maukin, a hare. 

Maun, must. 

Mavis, the thrush. 

Maw, to mow. 

Mawin, mowing. 

Meere, a mare. 

Meickle, much. 

Melancholious, mourn- 
ful. 

Melder, corn, or grain of 
any kind, sent to the 
mill to be ground. 

Mell, to meddle, Also a 



mallet for pounding 
barley in a stone trough. 

Melvie, to soil with meal, 

Men\ to mend. 

Mense, good manners, de- 
corum. 

Menseless, ill-bred, rude, 
impudent. 

Messin, a small dog. 

Midden j a dunghill. 

Midden-hole, a gutter at 
the bottom of a dung- 
hill. 

Mim, prim, affectedly 
meek. 

Min\ mind, resemblance. 

Mindt, mind it, resolved, 
intending. 

Minnie, mother.,, dam. 

Mirk, mirkest, dark, 
darkest. 

Misca\ to abuse, to call 
names. 

Miscdd, abused. 

Mislear'd, mischievous, 
unmannerly. 

Misteuk, mistook. 

Mither, a mother. 

Mixtie-maxtie, confused- 
ly mixed. 

Moistify to moisten. 

Mony, or monie, many. 

Moop, to nibble as a 
sheep. 

Moorlan\ of or belong- 
ing to moors. 

Morn, the next day, to- 
morrow. 

Muu, the mouth. 

Moudiwort, a mole. 

Mousie, dimin. of mouse. 

Muckle. or mickle, great, 
big, much. 

Musie, dimin. of muse. 

Muslin-kail, broth com- 
posed simply of water, 



518 



GLOSSARY. 



shelled barley, and 

greens. 
Mutchkin, an English 

pint. 
Mysel, myself. 

ST. 

NA', no, not, nor. 

Nae, no, not any. 

Naething, or naithing, 
nothing. 

Naig, a horse. 

Nane, none. 

Nappy, ale, to be tipsy. 

Negleckit, neglected. 

Neebor, a neighbour. 

Neuk, nook. 

Niest, next. 

Nieve, the fist. 

Nievefu", handful. 

Niffer, an exchange ; to 
exchange, to barter. 

Niger, a negro. 

Nine-tailed-cat, a hang- 
man's -whip. 

Nit, a nut 

Norland, of or belonging 
to the north. 

Notic't, noticed. 

Nowte, black cattle. 

O. 

O', of. 

Ochels, name of moun- 
tains. 

O haith, O faith ! an oath. 

Ony, or onie, any. 

Or, is often used for ere, 
before. 

OY, of it. 

Ourie, shivering, droop- 
ing. 

Oursel, or our sets, our- 
selves. 

Oittlers, cattle not housed. 



0a;er, over, too. 

Owre-hip, a way of fetch- 
ing a blow with the 
hammer over the arm. 

P. 

PACK, intimate, fami- 
liar; twelve stone of 
wool. 

Painch, paunch. 

Paitrick, a partridge. 

Pang, to cram. 

Parle, speech. 

Parr itch, oatmeal pud- 
ding, a well-known 
Scotch dish. 

Pat, did put, a pot. 

Pattle or pettle, a plough- 
staff. 

Paughty, proud, haughty. 

Pauky, or pawkie, cun- 
ning, sly. 

Pay't, paid, beat. 

Pech, to fetch the breath 
short, as in an asthma. 

Pechan, the crop, the 
stomach. 

Peelin, peeling. 

Pet, a domesticated sheep, 
&c. 

Pettle, to cherish; a 
plough-staff. 

Philibegs, short petticoats 
worn by the Highland - 
men. 

Phraise, fair speeches, 
flattery, to flatter. 

Phraisin, flattery. 

Pibroch, a Highland War 
Song adapted to the 
bagpipe. 

Pickle, a small quanti- 
ty. , 

Pine, pain, uneasiness. 

Pit, to put. 



GLOSSARY. 



510 



Placad, a public procla- 
mation. 
Plack, an old Scotch coin, 
the third part of a 
Scotch penny, twelve of 
which make an English 
penuy. 
Plackless, pennyless,with- 

out money. 
Platie, dimin. of plate. 
Plezo, or pleugh, a plough. 
Pliskie, a trick. 
Poind, to seize on cattle, 
or take the goods, as the 
laws of Scotland allow 
for rent. 
Pooriith, poverty. 
Pou, to pull. 
Pouk, to pluck. 
Poussie, a hare, or cat. 
Pout, a poult, a chick. 
Pou't, did pull. 
Pouthery, like powder. 
Pow, the head, the skull. 
Pozvnie, a little horse. 
Powther or pouther, pow- 
der. 
Preen j a pin. 
Prent, printing. 
Prie, to taste. 
Prie'd, tasted. 
Prief, proof. 
Prig, to cheapen, to dis- 
pute. 
Priggin, cheapening. 
Primsie, demure, pre- 
cise. 
Propone, to lay down, to 

propose. 
Provoses, provosts. 
Pund, pound, pounds. 
Pyle, a pyle o' caff", a 
single grain of chaff. 

Q. 

QUAT, to quit. 
Quak, to quake. 



Quey, a cow from one to 
two years old. 

R. 

RAGWEED, herb rag- 
wort. 

Raible, to rattle non- 
sense. 

Rair, to roar. 

Raize, to madden, to in- 
flame. 

Ram-feezVd, fatigued, 
overspread. 

Ram-stam, thoughtless, 
forward. 

Raploch, properly a 
coarse cloth, but used 
as an adnoun for 
coarse. 

Rarely, excellently, very 
well. 

Rash, a rush ; rash-buss, 
a bush of rushes. 

Ratton, a rat. 

Raucle, rash, stout, fear- 
less. 

Raught, reached. 

Raw, a row. 

Rax, to stretch. 

Ream, cream; to cream. 

Reamin, brimful,fro thing. 

Reave, rove, 

Reck, to heed. 

Rede, counsel, to counsel. 

■Red-wat-shod, walking in 
blood over the shoe- 
tops. 

Red-wud, stark mad. 

Ree, half drunk, fuddled. 

Reek, smoke. 

Reekin, smoking. 

Reekit, smoked, smoky. 

Remead, remedy. 

Requite, requited. 

Rest, to stand restive. 

Restit, stood restive, 
stunted, withered. 



520 



GLOSSARY. 



Restricked, restricted. 

Rew, repent. 

Rief, reef, plenty. 

Rief randies, sturdy beg- 
gars. 

Rig, a ridge. 

Rin, to run, to melt ; 
rinnin, running. 

Rink, the course of the 
stones, a term in curl- 
ing on ice. 

Rip, a handful of un- 
threshed corn. 

Riskit, made a noise like 
the tearing of roots. 

Rockin, spinning on the 
rock, or distaff. 

Rood, stands likewise for 
the plural roods. 

Roon, a shed. 

Roose, to praise, to com- 
mend. 

Roun', round, in the cir- 
cle of r^eighbourhood. 

Roupety hoarse, as with a 
cold. 

Routhit, plentiful. 

Row, to roll, to wrap. 

Row't, rolled, wrapped. 

Rowte, to low, to bellow. 

Rowth, or routh, plenty. 

Roxvtin, lowing. 

Rozet, rosin. 

Hung, a cudgel. 

Rurikled, wrinkled. 

Runt, the stem of cole- 
wort or cabbage. 

Ruth, a woman's name, 
the book so called ; 
sorrow. 



SAE, so. 

Soft, soft. 

Sair, to serve, a sore. 

Sairly, or sairlie, sorely. 

Sair't t served. 



Sark, a shirt. 
Sarkit, provided in shirts. 
Saugh, the willow. 
Saul, soul. 
Saumont, salmon. 
Saunt, a saint. 
Saut, salt. 
Saw, to sow. 
Sawin, sowing. 
Sax, six. 

Scaith, to damage, to in- 
jure, injury. 
I Scar, to scar, a scar, 
Scaud, to scald. 
Scauld, to scold. 
Scaur, apt to be scared. 
Scawl, a scold. 
Scon, a kind of bread. 
Sco?iner, a loathing, to 

loathe. 
Scraich, to scream as a 

hen, partridge, &c. 
Screed, to tear, a rent. 
Scrieve y to glide swiftly 

along. 
Scrievin, gleesomely, 

swiftly . 
Scrimp, to scant. 
Scrimpet, did scant, 

scanty. 
See'd, did see. 
Seizin, seizing. 
Sel, self; a body's sel, 

one's self alone. 
SelVt, did sell. 
Sen\ to send. 
Sen't, I, he, or she sent, 

or did send, send it. 
Servan\ servant. 
Settlin, settling; to get a, 

settlin, to be frighted 

into quietuess. 
Sets, sets uff, goes away. 
Shaird, a shred, a shard. 
Shangan, a stick cleft at 

one end for putting the 

tail of a dog, &c. into, 



GLOSSARY. 



521 



lry way of mischief, or 
to frighten him away. 

Shaver, a humorous wag, 
a barber. 

Shaw, to shew, a small 
wood in a hollow place. 

Sheen, bright, shining. 

Sheep-shank; to think 
on€s self nae sheep- 
shank, to be conceited. 

Sherra-moor, sherriff- 
moor, the famous battle 
fought in the Rebel- 
lion, A. D. 1715. 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, 
a sluice. 

Shiel, a shed. 

Shill, shrill. 

Shag, a shock, a push off 
at one side, 

Shool, a shovel. 

Shoon, shoes. 

Shore, to offer, to threat- 
en. 

Shored, offered. 

Shout her, the shoulder. 

Sic, such. 

Sicker, sure, steady. 

Sidelins, sidelong, slant- 
ing. 

Siller, silver, money. 

Simmer, summer. 

Sin, a son. 

Sin\ since. 

Skaith, see scaith. 

Skellum, a worthless fel- 
low. 

Skelp, to strike, to slap ; 
to walk with a smart 
tripping step, a smart 
stroke. 

Skelpi-limmer, a techni- 
cal term in female 
scolding. 

Skelp in ?stapp ing, w al k i n g . 

Skiegh, or Skeigh, proud, 
nice, high-mettled. 



Skinklin, a small portion. 

Skirl, to shriek, to cry 
shrilly. 

Skirling, shrieking, cry- 
ing. 

SkirVt, shrieked. 

Sklent, slant, to run 
aslant, to deviate from 
truth. 

Sklented, ran, or hit, in 
an oblique direction. 

Skreigh, a scream, to 
scream. 

Slae, sloe. 

Slade, did slide. 

Slap, a gate, a breach in 
a fence. 

Slaw, slow. 

Slee, sly; sleest, slyest. 

Sleekit, sleek, sly. 

Sliddery, slippery. 

Slype, to fall over, as a 
wet furrow from the 
plough. 

Sly pet, fell. 

Sma\ small. 

Smeddum, dust, powder, 
mettle, sense. 

Smiddy, a smithy. 

Smoor, to smother. 

Srnoor'd, smothered. 

Smoutie, smutty, obscene, 
ugly. 

Smytrie, a numerous col- 
lection of small indivi- 
dual?. 

Snapper, stumble. 

Snash, abuse, Elllings- 
gate. 

Snazv, snow, to snow. 
! Snaw-broo, melted snow. 

Snawie, snowy. 

Sneck, latch of a door. 
, Sned, to lop, to cut off. 

Sneeshin, snuff. 

Sneeshin-miV, a snuff- 
i box. 



522 



GLOSSARY. 



Snell, bitter, biting. 

Snick-drawing, trick-con- 
triving. 

Snick, the latchet of a 
door. 

Snool, one whose spirit 
is broken with oppres- 
sive slavery; to submit 
tamely, to sneak. 

Snoove, to go smoothly 
and constantly, to sneak. 

Snozvk, to scent or suufF, 
as a dog, horse, &c. 

Snowkit, scented, snuffed . 

Sonsie, having sweet en- 
gaging looks, lucky, 

Soom, to swim. 

Sooth, truth, a petty oath. 

Sough, a sigh, a sound 
dying on the ear. 

Souple, flexible, swift. 

Souter, a shoemaker. 

Sowens, a dish made of 
oatmeal, the seeds of 
oatm«al soured, &c. 
boiled up till they 
make an agreeable pud- 
ding. 

Sowp, a spoonful, a small 
quantity of any thing 
liquid. 

Sowth, to try over a tune 
with a low whistle. 

Sowther, solder, to solder, 
to cement. 

Spae, to prophesy, to di- 
vine. 

Spaul, a limb. 

Spairge, to dash, to soil, 
as with mire. 

Spaviet, having the spa- 
vin. 

Speat or spate, a sweep- 
, ing torrent, after rain 
or thaw. 

Speel, to climb. 



Spence, the country par- 
lour. 

Spier, to ask, to inquire. 

Spier't, inquired. 

Splatter, a splutter, to 
splutter. 

Spleughan, a tobacco- 
pouch. 

Splore, a frolic, a noise, 
riot. 

Sprattle, to scramble. 

Spreckled, spotted, speck- 
led. 

Spring, a quick air in 
music, a Scottish reel. 

Sprit, a tough-rooted 
plant, something like 
rushes. 

Sprittie, full of sprits. 

Spunk, fire, mettle, wit* 

Spunkie, mettlesome, 
fiery ; will-o-wisp, or 
ignis fatuus. 

Spurtle, a stick used in 
making oatmeal pud- 
ding or porridge, a nota- 
ble Scotch dish. 

Squad, a crew, a party. 

Squatter, to flutter in 
water, as a wild duck. 
&c. 

Squattle, to sprawl. 

Squeel,9i scream, a screech, 
to scream. 

Stacher, to stagger. 

Stack, a rick of corn, 
hay, &c. 

Staggie, the diminutive ol 
stag. 

Stalwart, strong, stout. 

Stant\ to stand; stan't, 
did stand. 

Stane, a stone. 

Stank, did stink; a pool 
of standing water. 

Stap, stop. 

Stark, stout. 



GLOSSARY. 



523- 



Siartle, to run as cattle 

stung by the gad- fly. 
Staumrel, a blockhead, 

half-witted. 
Staw, did steal, to surfeit. 
Stech, to cram the belly. 
Stechin, cramming. 
Steek, to shut, a stitch. 
Steer, to molest, to stir. 
Steeve, firm, compacted. 
Stell, a still. 
Sten, to rear as a horse. 
Sterft, reared. 
Stents, tribute, dues of 

any kind. 
Stey, steep ; steyest, steep- 
est. 
Stibble, stubble ; stibble- 
rig, the reaper in 
harvest who takes the 
lead. 
Stick an stow, totally, al- 
together. 
Stile, a crutch; to halt, 

to limp. 
Stimpart, the eighth 
part of a Winchester 
bushel. 
Stirk, a cow or bullock a 

year old. 
Stock, a plant or root of 
colewort, cabbage, &c. 
Stdckin, stocking; throw- 
ing the stockin', when 
the bride and bride- 
groom are put into bed, 
and the candle out, the 
former throws a stock- 
ing at random among 
the company, and the 
person whom it strikes 
is the next that will be 
married. 
Stooked, made up in 

shocks as corn. 
Stoor, sounding hollow, 
strong, and hoarse. 



Stbt, an ox. 

Stoup, or stomp* a kind 
of jug or dish with a 
handle. 
Stoure, dust, more par- 
ticularly dust in mo- 
tion. 
Stowlins, by stealth. 
Stown, stolen. 
Stoyte, stumble. 
Strack, did strike. 
Strae, straw; to die a fair 
strae death, to die in 
bed. 
Straik, did strike. 
Straikit, stroked. 
Strappan, tall and hand- 
some, 
Straught, straight. 
Streck, stretched,' to- 

stretch. 
St riddle, to straddle. 
Stroan, to spout, to piss. 
Studdie, an anvil. 
Stumpie, dimin. of stump. 
Strunt, spirituous liquor 
of any kind; to walk, 
sturdily. 
Stuff, corn or pulse of 

any kind. 
Sturt, trouble; to mo- 
lest. 
Sturtin, frighted, 
Sucker, sugar. 
Sud, should. 
Sugh, the continued 
rushing noise of wind 
or water. 
Suthron, southern, an old 
name for the English 
nation. 
Swaird, sward. „ 
SwalVd, swelled. 
Swank, stately , jolly. 
Swankie, or swanker, a 
tight strapping young 
fellow or girl. 



524 



GLOSSARY. 



Swap, an exchauge, to 

barter. 
Swarf, swoon. 
Swat, did sweat. 
Swatch, a sample. 
Swats, drink, good ale. 
Sweaten, sweating. 
Sweer, lazy, averse ; 

deadsweer, extremely 

averse. 
Swoor, swore, did swear. 
Swinge, to beat, to whip. 
Swirl, a curve, an eddying 

blast, or pool, a knot 

in wood. 
Swirlie, knaggy, full of 

knot?. 
Swith, get away. 
Swither, to hesitate in 

choice, an irresolute 

wavering in choice. 
Syne, since, ago, then. 

T. 

TACKETS, a kind of nails 
for driving into the heels 
of shoes. 

Tae, a toe; thrcetae'd, 
haviug three prongs. 

Tairge, target. 

Tak, to take; takin, 
taking. 

Tamtallan, the name of 
a mountain. 

Tangle, a sea-weed. 

Tap, the top. 

Tapetless, heedless, fool- 
ish. 

Tarrow, to murmur at 
one's allowance. 

Tarrow 1 1, murmured. 

Tarry -breeks, a sailor. 

Taulds or told, told. 

Taupie, a foolish thought- 
less young person. 

Tauted, or tautie, matted 



together; spoken of hair 
or wool. 

Tawie, that allows itstK 
peaceably to be handleu 
spoken of ahorse, cow^ 
&c. 

Teat, a small quantity. 

Tedding, spreading aftet 
the mower. 

Ten-hours*bite, a sl\r l -t 
feed to the horses wMle 
in the yoke, in the fore- 
noon. 

Tent, a field pulpit, heed 
caution, take heed. 

Tentie, heedful, cautio i- 

Tentless, heedless. 

Teugh, tough. 

Thack, thatch ; thack 
an' rape, clothing ne- 
cessaries. 

Thae, these. 

Thairms, small guts, fid- 
dle-strings. 

Thankit, thanked. 

Theekit, thatched. 

Thegither, together. 

Themsel, themselves. 

Thick, intimate, familiar. 

Thieveless, cold, dry, spit- 
ed ; spoken of a per- 
son's demeanour. 

Thir, these. 

Thirl, to thrill. 

Thirled, thrilled, vibrat- 
ed. 

Thole, to suffer, to en- 
dure. 

Thowe, a thaw, to thaw. 

Thowless, slack, lazy. 

Thrang, throng, a crowd. 

Thrapple, throat, wind- 
pipe. 

Thraw, to sprain, to twisty 
to contradict. 

Thrawin, twisting, &c 



GI03SARY. 



525 



£hrarm, sprained, twist- 
' ed, contradicted, con- 
tradiction. 
^hreap, to maintain by 
, dint of assertion. 
Vhreshin, thrashiug. 
Yhreteen, thirteen. 
rhristle, thistle. 
Through, to go on with, 

to make out. 
Throuther, pell-mell, con- 
fusedly. 
Thud, to make a loud in- 
termittent noise. 
Thumpit, thumped, 
Thysel, thyself. 
TilVt, to it. 
Timmer, timber. 
Tine, to lose ; tint, lost. 
Tinkler, a tinker. 
Tint the gate, lost the 

•way. 
Tip, a ram. 
Tippence, two-pence. 
Tirl, to make a slight 

noise, to uncover. 
Tirlin, uncovering. 
Tither, the other. 
; i Tittle, to whisper. 
3 Tittlin, whispering. 
Tocher, marriage portion. 
Tod, a fox. 
Toddle, to totter, like the 

walk of a child. 
Toddlin, tottering. 
Toom, empty. 
Toop, a ram. ' 
Toun, a hamlet, a farm- 
1 house. 
Tout, the blast of a horn 
. Ij or trumpet, to blow a 
1 \ horn &c. 
: ' Tow, a rope. 

Towmond, a twelve- 
month. 
Towzie, rough, shaggy. 



Toy, a very old fashion 

of female head-dress. 
Toyte* to totter like old 

age. 
Transmugrify'd, trans- 
migrated,metamorphos* 
ed. 
Trashtrie, trash. 
Trews, trowsers. 
Trickie, full of tricks. 
Trig, spruce, neat. 
Trimly, excellently. 
Trow, to believe. 
Trowth, truth, a petty 

oath. 
Trysted, appointed ; to 
tryste, to make an ap* 
pointment. 
Try% tried. 

Tug, raw bide, of which 
in old times plough- 
traces were frequently 
made. 
Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quar- 
rel, to fight. 
Twa, twor 
Twa-thret, a few. 
y Twad, it would. 
Twal, twelve; twal-pen- 
nie worth, a small 
quantity , a penny-worth . 
N. B. One penny Eng- 
lish is lid, Scotch* 
Twin, to part. 
Tyke, a dog. 

U. 

UNCO, strange, uncouth, 
very, very great, pro- 
digious. 

Uncos, news. 

Unkenn"d, unknown. 

Unsicker, unsure, un- 
steady. 

Unskaith'd, undamaged,, 
unhurt* 



526 



GLOSSARY. 



Unweeting, unwotting, 

unknowingly. 
T7po\ upon. 
Urchin, a hedge-hog. 

V. 

VAP'RIN, vapouring. 
Vera, very. 

Virl, a ring round a co- 
lumn, &c. 

W. 

WA\ wall ; wa y s, walls. 
Wabster, a weaver. 
Wad, would, to bet, a 

bet, a pledge. 
Wadna, would not. 
Wae, woe, sorrowful. 
Waesucks ! or waes me ! 

alas ! O the pity. 
Waft, the cross thread 
that goes from the 
shuttle through the 
web ; woof. 
Waifu', wailing. 
Wair, to lay out, to ex- 
pend. 
Wale, choice, to choose. 
WaVd, chose, chosen. 
Walie, ample, large, jol- 
ly ; also an interjection 
of distress. 
Wame, the belly. 
Wamefu\z belly-full. 
Wanchansie, unlucky. 
Wanerestfu', restless. 
Wark, work. 
Wark-lume, a tool to 

work with. 
Wdrl, or warld, w orld. 
Warlock, a wizard. 
Warly, worldly, eager 

on amassing wealth. 
Warran, a warrant, to 

warrant. 
War st, worst. 



WarstVd or warsl'a. 
wrestled. 

Wastrie, prodigality. 

Wat, wet, I zvat, I wot, 
I know. 

Water-brose, brose made 
of meal and water sim- 
ply, without the addi- 
tions of milk, butter, 
&c. 

Wattle, a twig, a wand. 

Wauble, to swing, to 
reel. 

Waught, draught, 

Waukit, thickened, as ful- 
lers do cloth. 

Waukrife, not apt to 
sleep. 

Waur^ worse, to worst. 

Waur't, worsted. 

Wean, or weanie, a child* 

Wearie, or weary; many 
a wearie body, man v a 
different person. 

Weas&n, weasand. 

Weaving the stocking. 
See Throwing the stock- 
ing, page 523. 

Wee, little ; wee things* 
little ones; wee bit, a 
small matter. 

Weel, well ; welfare, 
welfare. 

Weet, rain, wetness. 

Weird, fate. 

We'se, we shall. 

Wha, who. 

TVhaizle, to wheeze. 

JVhalpit, whelped. 

Whang, a leathern string, 
apiece of cheese, bread, 
&c. to give the strap- 
pado. 

Whare, where; Whart- 
e J er, wherever. 

Wheep, to fly nimbly, to 



GLOSSARY. 



527 



jerk ; penny-wheep, 
small-beer. 

XVhase, whose. 

Whatreck, nevertheless. 

Whidy the motion of a 
hare, running but not 
frighted, a lie. 

Whidden, runuing as a 
hare or coney. 

Whigmeleeries, whims, 
fancies, crotchet3. 

Whingin, crying, com- 
plaining, fretting. 

Whirligigums, useless 
ornaments, trifling ap- 
pendages. 

Whissle, a whistle, to 
whistle. 

Whisht, silence : to hold 
one's whisht, to be si- 
lent. 

Whisk, to sweep, to lash. 

Whiskit, lashed. 

Whitter, a hearty draught 
of liquor. 

Whunstane, a whin- 
stone. 

Whyles, whiies, some- 
times. 

Wi\ with. 

Wick, to strike a stone in 
an oblique direction, a 
term in curling. 

Wicker, willow (the 
smaller sort). 

Wiel, a small whirlpool. 

Wifie, a diminutive or 
endearing term for wife. 

Wimple, to meander. 

WimpVt, meandered. 

Wimplin, waving, me- 
andering. 

Win, to win, to winnow. 

Win't, winded, as a bot- 
tom of yarn. 

Win', wind j win's, winds. 



Winna, will not. 

Winnock, a window. 

Winsome, hearty, vaunt- 
ed, gay. 

Wintle, a staggering mo- 
tion j to stagger, to 
reel. 

Winze, an oath. 

Wiss, to wish. 

Withoutten, without. 

Wizertd hide-bound, 
dried, shrunk. 

Wonner, a wonder, a 
contemptuous appella- 
tion. 

Wons, dwells. 

Woo 1 , wool. 

Woo, to court, to make 
love to. 

Woodie, a rope, more 
properly one made of 
withs or willows. 

Wooer-bab, the garter 
knotted below the knee 
with a couple of loops. 

Wordy, worthy. 

Worset, worsted. 

Wow, an exclamation of 
pleasure or wonder. 

Wrack, to teaze, to vex. 

Wraith, a spirit, a ghost : 
an apparition exactly 
like a living person, 
whose appearance is 
said to forebode the 
person's approaching 
death. 

Wrang, wrong, to wrong. 

Wreeth, a drifted heap 
of snow. 

Wud-madj distracted. 

Wumble, a wimble. 

Wyle, beguile. 

Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. 

JVyte, blame, to blame 



523 



GLOSSARY. 



Y. 



YE ; this pronoun is fre- 
quently used for thou. 

Yearns, longs much. 

Yearlings, bora in the 
same year, coevals. 

Year, is used both for 
singular, and plural 
years. 

Yell, barren, that gives 
no milk. 

Yerk, to lash, to jerk. 

Ycrkit, jerked, lashed. 



Yestreen, yesternight. 

Yett, a gate, such as is 
usually at the entrance 
into a farm-yard or 
field. 

Yill, ale. 

Yird, earth. 

Yokin, yoking, a boutt 

Yont, beyond. 

Yoursel, yourself. 

Yowe, an ewe. 

Yowie, dimin. of yowe. 

Yule, Christmas. 



■7 ■■ 



J. M'Creery, Printer, 
Biack-Horse-Court, London. 











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